A LITTLE PIECE OF PAPER
Of all Billy's guests, Marie was very plainly the happiest. She was a permanent guest, it is true, while the others came for only a week or two at a time; but it was not this, Billy decided, that had brought so brilliant a sparkle to Marie's eyes, so joyous a laugh to her lips. The joyousness was all the more noticeable, because heretofore Marie, while very sweet, had been also sad. Her big blue eyes had always carried a haunting shadow, and her step had lacked the spring belonging to youth and happiness. Certainly, Billy had never seen her like this before.
"Verily, Marie," she teased one day, "have you found an exhaustless supply of stockings to mend, or a never-done pudding to make--which?"
"Why? What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing. I was only wondering just what had brought that new light to your eyes.""Is there a new light?"
"There certainly is."
"It must be because I'm so happy, then," sighed Marie; "because you're so good to me.""Is that all?"
"Isn't that enough?" Marie's tone was evasive.
"No." Billy shook her head mischievously. "Marie, what is it?""It's nothing--really, it's nothing," protested Marie, hurrying out of the room with a nervous laugh.
Billy frowned. She was suspicious before; she was sure now. In less than twelve hours' time came her opportunity. She was alone again with Marie.
"Marie, who is he?" she asked abruptly.
"He? Who?"
"The man who is to wear the stockings and eat the pudding."The little music teacher flushed very red, but she managed to display something that might pass for surprise.
"BILLY!"
"Come, dear," coaxed Billy, winningly. "Tell me about it. I'm so interested!""But there isn't anything to tell--really there isn't.""Who is he?"
"He isn't anybody--that is, he doesn't know he's anybody," amended Marie.
Billy laughed softly.
"Oh, doesn't he! Hasn't he ever shown--that he cared?""No; that is--perhaps he has, only I thought then--that it was--another girl."
"Another girl! So there's another girl in the case?""Yes. I mean, no," corrected Marie, suddenly beginning to realize what she was saying. "Really, it wasn't anything--it isn't anything!" she protested.
"Hm-m," murmured Billy, archly. "Oh, I'm getting on some! He did show, once, that he cared; but you thought it was another girl, and you coldly looked the other way. Now, there ISN'T any other girl, you find, and--Marie, tell me the rest!"Marie shook her head emphatically, and pulled herself gently away from Billy's grasp.
"No, no, please!" she begged. "It really isn't anything. I'm sure I'm imagining it all!" she cried, as she ran away.
During the days that followed, Billy speculated not a little on Marie's half-told story, and wondered interestedly who the man might be. She questioned Marie once again, but the girl would tell nothing more; and, indeed, Billy was so occupied with her own perplexities that she had little time for those of other people.
To herself Billy was forced to own that she was not "getting used to things." She was still self-conscious with William; she could not forget that she was one day to be his wife. She could not bring back the dear old freedom of comradeship with him.
