for the presence of the man in the seat across the
aisle of the sleeping-car.

``And you--you know now that I love you
--just you?''

``Not even Arkwright?''

``Not even Arkwright,'' smiled Billy.

There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a
little constrainedly, Bertram asked:

``And you said you--you never _had_ cared for
Arkwright, didn't you?''

For the second time in her life Billy was
thankful that Bertram's question had turned upon _her_
love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love for her.
In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a
girl was his secret, not hers, and was certainly
one that the girl had no right to tell. Once
before Bertram had asked her if she had ever
cared for Arkwright, and then she had answered
emphatically, as she did now:

``Never, dear.''

``I thought you said so,'' murmured Bertram,
relaxing a little.