Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.
“And for my trousseau--there were so many things that you simply would buy!”
“I didn't get one of the egg-beaters,” Billy reminded her anxiously.
Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.
“Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me.”
At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.
“Why, because I--I can't,” she stammered. “I can't get them for myself, and--and--”
“Then why won't you let me do what I want to, and be happy in it? Money, just money, isn't any good unless you can exchange it for something you want. And just now I want pink roses and ice cream and lace flounces for you. Marie,”--Billy's voice trembled a little--“I never had a sister till I had you, and I have had such a good time buying things that I thought you wanted! But, of course, if you don't want them--” The words ended in a choking sob, and down went Billy's head into her folded arms on the desk before her.
Marie sprang to her feet and cuddled the bowed head in a loving embrace.
“But I do want them, dear; I want them all--every single one,” she urged. “Now promise me--promise me that you'll do them all, just as you'd planned! You will, won't you?”
There was the briefest of hesitations, then came the muffled reply:
“I do, dear--indeed I do. I love pretty weddings, and I--I always hoped that I could have one--if I ever married. So you must know, dear, how I really do want all those things,” declared Marie, fervently. “And now I must go. I promised to meet Cyril at Park Street at three o'clock.” And she hurried from the room--and not until she was half-way to her destination did it suddenly occur to her that she had been urging, actually urging Miss Billy Neilson to buy for her pink roses, ice cream, and lace flounces.
Her cheeks burned with shame then. But almost at once she smiled.
“Now wasn't that just like Billy?” she was saying to herself, with a tender glow in her eyes.
It was early in December that Pete came one day with a package for Marie from Cyril. Marie was not at home, and Billy herself went downstairs to take the package from the old man's hands.
“Mr. Cyril said to give it to Miss Hawthorn,” stammered the old servant, his face lighting up as Billy entered the room; “but I'm sure he wouldn't mind _your_ taking it.”