more must be better, she had shyly gone into a
bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had
asked for the book. Since bringing it home she
had studied assiduously (though never if Bertram
was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in
use, in a remote corner of her desk.

There was a good deal in the book that Billy
did not like, and there were some statements that
worried her; but yet there was much that she
tried earnestly to follow. She was still striving
to be the oak, and she was still eagerly endeavoring
to brush up against those necessary outside
interests. She was so thankful, in this connection,
for Alice Greggory, and for Arkwright and Hugh
Calderwell. It was such a help that she had
them! They were not only very pleasant and
entertaining outside interests, but one or another
of them was almost always conveniently within
reach.

Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was
furthering the pretty love story between Alice
and Mr. Arkwright. And she _was_ furthering it.
She was sure of that. Already she could see how
dependent the man was on Alice, how he looked
to her for approbation, and appealed to her on
all occasions, exactly as if there was not a move
that he wanted to make without her presence
near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright.