"Hugh, I told you not to ask me that again," she demurred.
"And I told you not to ask impossibilities of me," he retorted
imperturbably. "Billy, won't you, now--seriously?"
"Seriously, no, Hugh. Please don't let us go all over that again when
we've done it so many times."
"No, let's don't," agreed the man, cheerfully. "And we don't have to,
either, if you'll only say 'yes,' now right away, without any more
fuss."
Billy sighed impatiently.
"Hugh, won't you understand that I'm serious?" she cried; then she
turned suddenly, with a peculiar flash in her eyes.
"Hugh, I don't believe Bertram himself could make love any more
nonsensically than you can!"
Calderwell laughed, but he frowned, too; and again he threw into
Billy's face that keenly questioning glance. He said something--a light
something--that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself;
but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, and
the shadow was not gone from his eyes.
CHAPTER XXIII
BERTRAM DOES SOME QUESTIONING
Billy's time was well occupied. There were so many, many things she
wished to do, and so few, few hours in which to do them. First there was
her music. She made arrangements at once to study with one of Boston's
best piano teachers, and she also made plans to continue her French and
German.
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