You know lots and lots of people that I never
even saw. And they'll come and stand around
and stare and lift their lorgnettes and say: `Is
that the one? Dear me!' ''

Bertram gave a relieved laugh.

``Nonsense, sweetheart! I should think you
were a picture I'd painted and hung on a
wall.''

``I shall feel as if I were--with all those friends
of yours. Bertram, what if they don't like it?''
Her voice had grown tragic again.

``_Like_ it!''

``Yes. The picture--me, I mean.''

``They can't help liking it,'' he retorted, with
the prompt certainty of an adoring lover.

Billy shook her head. Her eyes had gone back
to the fire.

``Oh, yes, they can. I can hear them. `What,
_she_--Bertram Henshaw's wife?--a frivolous,
inconsequential ``Billy'' like that?' Bertram!''
--Billy turned fiercely despairing eyes on her
lover--``Bertram, sometimes I wish my name