slipped the ring on Billy's outstretched finger.

Billy caught her breath with almost a sob.

``And I'm so glad to be--yours, dear,'' she
murmured brokenly. ``And--and I'll make you
proud that I am yours, even if I am just `Billy,' ''
she choked. ``Oh, I know I'll write such beautiful,
beautiful songs now.''

The man drew her into a close embrace.

``As if I cared for that,'' he scoffed lovingly.

Billy looked up in quick horror.

``Why, Bertram, you don't mean you don't
--care?''

He laughed lightly, and took the dismayed
little face between his two hands.

``Care, darling? of course I care! You know
how I love your music. I care about everything
that concerns you. I meant that I'm proud of
you _now_--just you. I love _you_, you know.''

There was a moment's pause. Billy's eyes,
as they looked at him, carried a curious intentness
in their dark depths.