第66章

"WILLIAM'S BROTHER"

It was decided that for the present, the engagement should not be known outside the family. The wedding would not take place immediately, William said, and it was just as well to keep the matter to themselves until plans were a little more definite.

The members of the family were told at once. Aunt Hannah said "Oh, my grief and conscience!" three times, and made matters scarcely better by adding apologetically: "Oh, of course it's all right, it's all right, only--" She did not finish her sentence, and William, who had told her the news, did not know whether he would have been more or less pleased if she had finished it.

Cyril received the information moodily, and lapsed at once into a fit of abstraction from which he roused himself hardly enough to offer perfunctory congratulations and best wishes.

Billy was a little puzzled at Cyril's behavior. She had been sure for some time that Cyril had ceased to care specially for her, even if he ever did fancy that he loved her. She had hoped to keep him for a friend, but of late she had been forced to question even his friendliness. He had, in fact, gone back almost to his old reserve and taciturn aloofness.

From the West, in response to William's news of the engagement, came a cordially pleased note in Kate's scrawling handwriting.

Kate, indeed, seemed to be the only member of the family who was genuinely delighted with the coming marriage. As to Bertram--Bertram appeared to have aged years in a single night, so drawn and white was his face the morning after William had told him his plans.

William had dreaded most of all to tell Bertram. He was very sure that Bertram himself cared for Billy; and it was doubly hard because in William's own mind was a strong conviction that the younger man was decidedly the one for her. Realizing, however, that Bertram must be told, William chose a time for the telling when Bertram was smoking in his den in the twilight, with his face half hidden from sight.

Bertram said little--very little, that night; but in the morning he went straight to Billy.

Billy was shocked. She had never seen the smiling, self-reliant, debonair Bertram like this.

"Billy, is this true?" he demanded. The dull misery in his voice told Billy that he knew the answer before he asked the question.

"Yes, yes; but, Bertram, please--please don't take it like this!"she implored.

"How would you have me take it?"

"Why, just--just sensibly. You know I told you that--that the other never could be--never.""I know YOU said so; but I--believed otherwise.""But I told you--I did not love you--that way."Bertram winced. He rose to his feet abruptly.

"I know you did, Billy. I'm a fool, of course, to think that Icould ever--change it. I shouldn't have come here, either, this morning. But I--had to. Good-by!" His face, as he held out his hand, was tragic with renunciation.

"Why, Bertram, you aren't going--now--like this!" cried the girl.

"You've just come!"

The man turned almost impatiently.

"And do you think I can stay--like this? Billy, won't you say good-by?" he asked in a softer voice, again with outstretched hand.

Billy shook her head. She ignored the hand, and resolutely backed away.

"No, not like that. You are angry with me," she grieved.

"Besides, you make it sound as if--if you were going away.""I am going away."

"Bertram!" There was terror as well as dismay in Billy's voice.

Again the man turned sharply.