``But, Billy, it _was_ something.'' Bertram's
eyes were still troubled. ``Was it the picture?
I thought you liked this picture.''

Billy laughed again--this time more naturally.

``Bertram, I'm ashamed of you--expecting
me to say I `like' any of this,'' she scolded, with
a wave of her hands toward the omnipresent
Billy. ``Why, I feel as if I were in a room with
a thousand mirrors, and that I'd been discovered
putting rouge on my cheeks and lampblack on
my eyebrows!''

William laughed fondly. Aunt Hannah and
Marie gave an indulgent smile. Cyril actually
chuckled. Bertram only still wore a puzzled
expression as he laid aside the canvas in his
hands.

Billy examined intently a sketch she had found
with its back to the wall. It was not a pretty
sketch; it was not even a finished one, and Billy
did not in the least care what it was. But her
lips cried interestedly:

``Oh, Bertram, what is this?''

There was no answer. Bertram was still