"Billy, that was the dearest and loveliest thing a girl ever did--only
I was too great a chump to appreciate it!" finished Bertram in a voice
that was not quite steady.
"Thank you," smiled the girl, with a slow shake of her head and a
relieved look in her eyes; "but I'm afraid I can't quite agree to that."
The next moment she had demanded mischievously: "Why, then, pray, this
unflattering objection to my--friendliness now?"
"Because I don't want you for a friend, or a sister, or anything else
that's related," stormed Bertram, with sudden vehemence. "I don't want
you for anything but--a wife! Billy, WON'T you marry me?"
Again Billy laughed--laughed until she saw the pained anger leap to the
gray eyes before her; then she became grave at once.
"Bertram, forgive me. I didn't think you could--you can't be--serious!"
"But I am."
Billy shook her head.
"But you don't love me--not ME, Bertram. It's only the turn of my head
or--or the tilt of my chin that you love--to paint," she protested,
unconsciously echoing the words Calderwell had said to her weeks before.
"I'm only another 'Face of a Girl.'"
"You're the only 'Face of a girl' to me now, Billy," declared the man,
with disarming tenderness.
"No, no, not that," demurred Billy, in distress. "You don't mean it. You
only think you do. It couldn't be that.
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