“But, dearest, what does it mean--you here like this?” asked Bertram then. As if to make sure that she was “here, like this,” he drew her even closer--Bertram was so thankful that he did have one arm that was usable.
Billy, on her knees by the couch, snuggled into the curve of the one arm with a contented little sigh.
“Well, you see, just as soon as I found out to-night that you wanted me, I came,” she said.
“You darling! That was--” Bertram stopped suddenly. A puzzled frown showed below the fantastic bandage about his head. “'As soon as,'” he quoted then scornfully. “Were you ever by any possible chance thinking I _didn't_ want you?”
“Why, Bertram, dear, don't you see? When you were so troubled that the picture didn't go well, and I found out it was about me you were troubled--I--”
“Well?” Bertram's voice was a little strained.
“Why, of--of course,” stammered Billy, “I couldn't help thinking that maybe you had found out you _didn't_ want me.”
“_Didn't want you!_” groaned Bertram, his tense muscles relaxing. “May I ask why?”
“I wasn't quite sure why,” she faltered; “only, of course, I thought of--of Miss Winthrop, you know, or that maybe it was because you didn't care for _any_ girl, only to paint--oh, oh, Bertram! Pete told us,” she broke off wildly, beginning to sob.
“Pete told you that I didn't care for any girl, only to paint?” demanded Bertram, angry and mystified.
“No, no,” sobbed Billy, “not that. It was all the others that told me that! Pete told Aunt Hannah about the accident, you know, and he said--he said--Oh, Bertram, I _can't_ say it! But that's one of the things that made me know I _could_ come now, you see, because I--I wouldn't hinder you, nor slay your Art, nor any other of those dreadful things if--if you couldn't ever--p-paint again,” finished Billy in an uncontrollable burst of grief.
“There, there, dear,” comforted Bertram, patting the bronze-gold head on his breast. “I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about--except the last; but I know there _can't_ be anything that ought to make you cry like that. As for my not painting again--you didn't understand Pete, dearie. That was what they were afraid of at first--that I'd lose my arm; but that danger is all past now. I'm loads better. Of course I'm going to paint again--and better than ever before--_now!_”