``I don't doubt it,'' observed Aunt Hannah,
dryly.

Billy laughed, and tossed the note back on the
desk.

``I'm writing to Belle Calderwell, now,'' she
announced musingly, dropping herself again on
the hassock. ``I suppose she'll tell Hugh.''

``Poor boy! He'll be disappointed.''

Billy sighed, but she uptilted her chin a little.

``He ought not to be. I told him long, long ago,
the very first time, that--that I couldn't.''

``I know, dear; but--they don't always
understand.'' Aunt Hannah sighed in sympathy
with the far-away Hugh Calderwell, as she looked
down at the bright young face near her.

There was a moment's silence; then Billy gave
a little laugh.

``He _will_ be surprised,'' she said. ``He told
me once that Bertram wouldn't ever care for any
girl except to paint. To paint, indeed! As if Bertram
didn't love me--just _me!_--if he never saw