them on the left. After a moment Marie turned
to Billy again.

``I'm so glad he wants--just puddings and
stockings,'' she began a little breathlessly. ``You
see, for so long I supposed he _wouldn't_ want anything
but a very brilliant, talented wife who could
play and sing beautifully; a wife he'd be proud
of--like you.''

``Me? Nonsense!'' laughed Billy. ``Cyril
never wanted me, and I never wanted him--only
once for a few minutes, so to speak, when I thought,
I did. In spite of our music, we aren't a mite
congenial. I like people around; he doesn't.
I like to go to plays; he doesn't. He likes rainy
days, and I abhor them. Mercy! Life with me
for him would be one long jangling discord, my
love, while with you it'll be one long sweet song!''

Marie drew a deep breath. Her eyes were fixed
on a point far ahead up the curveless street.

``I hope it will, indeed!'' she breathed.

Not until they were almost home did Billy
say suddenly:

``Oh, did Cyril write you? A young relative
of Aunt Hannah's is coming to-morrow to stay