Just as if I wouldn't do
anything in the world I could for Bertram!''
``Oh, that makes me think; who was that young
woman Bertram was talking with last evening--
just after he left us, I mean?''
``Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop.
Bertram is--is painting her portrait, you know.''
``Oh, is that the one?'' murmured Aunt
Hannah. ``Hm-m; well, she has a beautiful face.''
``Yes, she has.'' Billy spoke very cheerfully.
She even hummed a little tune as she carefully
selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.
``There's a peculiar something in her face,''
mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.
The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a
nervous laugh.
``Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a
peculiar something in your face. Bertram, too,
says she has it. He's trying to `catch it,' he says.
I wonder now--if he does catch it, does she lose
it?'' Flippant as were the words, the voice that
uttered them shook a little.
Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently--Aunt Hannah
had heard only the flippancy, not the shake.
``I don't know, my dear. You might ask him
this afternoon.''
Billy made a sudden movement.
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