"Yes, it's Billy. I--I came up to--to get acquainted," she smiled
winningly.
"Why, er--you are very kind. Will you--come in?"
"Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I--remembered."
Cyril bowed gravely.
"You are very kind--again," he said.
Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not "getting on" at
all. She determined on a bold stroke.
"You see, I thought if--if I should come up here, where there wouldn't
be so many around, we might get acquainted," she confided; "then I would
get to like you just as well as I do the others."
At the odd look that came into the man's face, the girl realized
suddenly what she had said. Her cheeks flushed a confused red.
"Oh, dear! That is, I mean--I like you, of course," she floundered
miserably; then she broke off with a frank laugh. "There! you see I
never could get out of anything. I might as well own right up. I DON'T
like you as well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!"
Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, something
that was very like interest came into his eyes.
"Oh, you don't," he retorted. "Now that is--er--very UNkind of you."
Billy shook her head.
"You don't say that as if you meant it," she accused him, her eyes
gravely studying his face. "Now I'M in earnest. _I_ really want to like
YOU!"
"Thank you.
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