Billy noted both the start and the pause--and
gloried in them.
``Yes; the words are by M. J. Arkwright,'' she
said with smooth unconcern, but with a covert
glance at the other's face. ``Ever hear of him?''
Alice Greggory gave a short little laugh.
``Probably not--this one. I used to know
an M. J. Arkwright, long ago; but he wasn't--a
poet, so far as I know,'' she finished, with a little
catch in her breath that made Billy long to take
her into a warm embrace.
Alice Greggory turned then to the music. She
had much to say of this--very much; but she
had nothing more whatever to say of Mr. M. J.
Arkwright in spite of the tempting conversation
bait that Billy dropped so freely. After that,
Rosa brought in tea and toast, and the little
frosted cakes that were always such a favorite
with Billy's guests. Then Alice Greggory said
good-by--her eyes full of tears that Billy pretended
not to see.
``There!'' breathed Billy, as soon as she had
Aunt Hannah to herself again. ``What did I
tell you? Did you see Miss Greggory's start
and blush and hear her sigh just over the _name_
of M. J.
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