There was no going back now to their old friendliness. He would be
morose or silly by turns, according to whether she frowned or smiled;
or else he would take himself off in a tragic sort of way that was very
disturbing. He had said, to be sure, that he would "win." Win, indeed!
As if she could marry Bertram! When she married, her choice would fall
upon a man, not a boy; a big, grave, earnest man to whom the world meant
something; a man who loved music, of course; a man who would single her
out from all the world, and show to her, and to her only, the depth
and tenderness of his love; a man who--but she was not going to marry,
anyway, remembered Billy, suddenly. And with that she began to cry. The
whole thing was so "tiresome," she declared, and so "absurd."
Billy rather dreaded her next meeting with Bertram. She feared--she knew
not what. But, as it turned out, she need not have feared anything, for
he met her tranquilly, cheerfully, as usual; and he did nothing and said
nothing that he might not have done and said before that twilight chat
took place.
Billy was relieved. She concluded that, after all, Bertram was going
to be sensible. She decided that she, too, would be sensible. She would
accept him on this, his chosen plane, and she would think no more of his
"nonsense."
Billy threw herself then even more enthusiastically into her beloved
work.
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