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know。''
‘‘Yes； I suppose you do。 You're brought up
on itin your business。 But me for the ‘Merry
Widow' and even the hoary ‘Jingle Bells' every
time！ However； I'm going to be thereout of
respect to the poor fellow's family。 And； by the
way； that's another thing that bowled me over
Cyril's marriage。 Why； Cyril hates women！''
‘‘Not all womenwe'll hope；'' smiled Arkwright。
‘‘Do you know his wife？''
‘‘Not much。 I used to see her a little at Billy's。
Music teacher； wasn't she？ Then she's the same
sort； I suppose。''
‘‘But she isn't；'' laughed Arkwright。 Oh；
she taught music； but that was only because of
necessity； I take it。 She's domestic through and
through； with an overwhelming passion for
making puddings and darning socks； I hear。 Alice
says she believes Mrs。 Cyril knows every dish
and spoon by its Christian name； and that there's
never so much as a spool of thread out of order
in the house。''
‘‘But how does Cyril stand itthe trials and
tribulations of domestic life？ Bertram used to
declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with
fear when Cyril was composing； and I remember
him as a perfect bear if anybody so much as
whispered when he was in one of his moods。 I
never forgot the night Bertram and I were up in
William's room trying to sing ‘When Johnnie
comes marching home；' to the accompaniment
of a banjo in Bertram's hands； and a guitar in
mine。 Gorry！ it was Hugh that went marching
home that night。''
‘‘Oh； well； from reports I reckon Mrs。 Cyril
doesn't play either a banjo or a guitar；'' smiled
Arkwright。 ‘‘Alice says she wears rubber heels
on her shoes； and has put hushers on all the chair…
legs； and felt…mats between all the plates and
saucers。 Anyhow； Cyril is building a new house；
and he looks as if he were in a pretty healthy
condition； as you'll see to…morrow night。''
‘‘Humph！ I wish he'd make his music healthy；
then；'' grumbled Calderwell； as he opened the
door。
CHAPTER XII
FOR BILLYSOME ADVICE
February brought busy days。 The public
opening of the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition
was to take place the sixth of March； with a
private view for invited guests the night before；
and it was at this exhibition that Bertram planned
to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop。
He also； if possible； wished to enter two or three
other canvases； upon which he was spending all
the time he could get。
Bertram felt that he was doing very good work
now。 The portrait of Marguerite Winthrop was
coming on finely。 The spoiled idol of society had
at last found a pose and a costume that suited her；
and she was graciously pleased to give the artist
almost as many sittings as he wanted。 The
‘‘elusive something'' in her face； which had
previously been so baffling； was now already caught
and held bewitchingly on his canvas。 He was
confident that the portrait would be a success。
He was also much interested in another piece of
work which he intended to show called ‘‘The
Rose。'' The model for this was a beautiful young
girl he had found selling flowers with her father
in a street booth at the North End。
On the whole； Bertram was very happy these
days。 He could not； to be sure； spend quite so
much time with Billy as he wished； but she
understood； of course； as did he； that his work must
come first。 He knew that she tried to show him
that she understood it。 At the same time； he
could not help thinking； occasionally； that Billy
did sometimes mind his necessary absorption in
his painting。
To himself Bertram owned that Billy was； in
some ways； a puzzle to him。 Her conduct was
still erratic at times。 One day he would seem to
be everything to her； the nextalmost nothing；
judging by the ease with which she relinquished
his society and substituted that of some one else：
Arkwright； or Calderwell； for instance。
And that was another thing。 Bertram was
ashamed to hint even to himself that he was
jealous of either of those men。 Surely； after what
had happened； after Billy's emphatic assertion
that she had never loved any one but himself；
it would seem not only absurd； but disloyal； that
he should doubt for an instant Billy's entire
devotion to him； and yetthere were times when
he wished he _could_ come home and not always
find Alice Greggory； Calderwell； Arkwright； or
all three of them strumming the piano in the
drawing…room！ At such times； always； though；
if he did feel impatient； he immediately demanded
of himself： ‘‘Are you； then； the kind of husband
that begrudges your wife young companions of
her own age and tastes to help her while away the
hours that you cannot possibly spend with her
yourself？''
This question； and the answer that his better
self always gave to it； were usually sufficient to
send him into some florists for a bunch of violets
for Billy； or into a candy shop on a like atoning
errand。
As to BillyBilly； too； was busy these days
chief of her concerns being； perhaps； attention
to that honeymoon of hers； to see that it did
not wane。 At least； the most of her thoughts；
and many of her actions； centered about that
object。
Billy had the book； nowthe ‘‘Talk to Young
Wives。'' For a time she had worked with only
the newspaper criticism to guide her； but； coming
at last to the conclusion that if a little was good；
more must be better； she had shyly gone into a
bookstore one day and； with a pink blush； had
asked for the book。 Since bringing it home she
had studied assiduously （though never if Bertram
was near）； keeping it well…hidden； when not in
use； in a remote corner of her desk。
There was a good deal in the book that Billy
did not like； and there were some statements that
worried her； but yet there was much that she
tried earnestly to follow。 She was still striving
to be the oak； and she was still eagerly endeavoring
to brush up against those necessary outside
interests。 She was so thankful； in this connection；
for Alice Greggory； and for Arkwright and Hugh
Calderwell。 It was such a help that she had
them！ They were not only very pleasant and
entertaining outside interests； but one or another
of them was almost always conveniently within
reach。
Then； too； it pleased her to think that she was
furthering the pretty love story between Alice
and Mr。 Arkwright。 And she _was_ furthering it。
She was sure of that。 Already she could see how
dependent the man was on Alice； how he looked
to her for approbation； and appealed to her on
all occasions； exactly as if there was not a move
that he wanted to make without her presence
near him。 Billy was very sure； now； of Arkwright。
She only wished she were as much so of Alice。
But Alice troubled her。 Not but that Alice was
kindness itself to the man； either。 It was only a
peculiar something almost like fear； or constraint；
that Billy thought she