She thought she knew what he meant, but at the
same time she couldn't understand why he should wish to refer to that
conversation now.
"A--confession?" she repeated, hesitatingly.
"Yes. I told you that I'd begun to doubt my being such a woman-hater,
after all. I intimated that YOU'D begun the softening process, and that
then I'd found a certain other young woman who had--well, who had kept
up the good work."
"Oh!" cried Billy suddenly, with a peculiar intonation. "Oh-h!" Then she
laughed softly.
"Well, that was the confession," resumed Cyril. "Then I came out
flat-footed and said that I wanted to marry her--but there is where I
didn't get the encouragement!"
"Indeed! I'm afraid I wasn't very considerate," stammered Billy.
"No, you weren't," agreed Cyril, moodily. "I didn't know but now--" his
voice softened a little--"with this new happiness of yours and Bertram's
that--you might find a little encouragement for me."
"And I will," cried Billy, promptly. "Tell me about her."
"I did--last winter," reproached the man, "and you were sure I was
deceiving myself. You drew the gloomiest sort of picture of the misery I
would take with a wife."
"I did?" Billy was laughing very merrily now.
"Yes. You said she'd always be talking and laughing when I wanted to be
quiet, and that she'd want to drag me out to parties and plays when
I wanted to stay at home; and--oh, lots of things.
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