woman Bertram was talking with last evening--
just after he left us, I mean?''

``Miss Winthrop--Miss Marguerite Winthrop.
Bertram is--is painting her portrait, you know.''

``Oh, is that the one?'' murmured Aunt
Hannah. ``Hm-m; well, she has a beautiful face.''

``Yes, she has.'' Billy spoke very cheerfully.
She even hummed a little tune as she carefully
selected a needle from the cushion in her basket.

``There's a peculiar something in her face,''
mused Aunt Hannah, aloud.

The little tune stopped abruptly, ending in a
nervous laugh.

``Dear me! I wonder how it feels to have a
peculiar something in your face. Bertram, too,
says she has it. He's trying to `catch it,' he says.
I wonder now--if he does catch it, does she lose
it?'' Flippant as were the words, the voice that
uttered them shook a little.

Aunt Hannah smiled indulgently--Aunt Hannah
had heard only the flippancy, not the shake.

``I don't know, my dear. You might ask him