Miss Billy Married | Page 5

for me, I'm dead tired. Good night. ``Affectionately yours, ``KATE.''
Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was thinking that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother Cyril, Cyril himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was plain to be seen--or rather, heard; for from under his fingers there came the Lohengrin wedding march until all the room seemed filled with the scent of orange blossoms, the mistiness of floating veils, and the echoing peals of far-away organs heralding the ``Fair Bride and Groom.''
Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie, Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however, lay idly across the stocking in her lap.
As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh.
What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed.
Cyril whirled about on the piano stool.
``It was a very sensible wedding,'' he said with emphasis.
``They looked so happy--both of them,'' went on Marie, dreamily; ``so--so sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever could trouble them--now.''
Cyril lifted his eyebrows.
``Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very sensible wedding,'' he declared.
This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes looked a little troubled.
``I know, dear, of course, what you mean. I thought our wedding was beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how you--you--''
``How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants,'' he finished for her, with a frowning smile. ``Oh, well, I stood it--for the sake of what it brought me.'' His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished. For a man known for years to his friends as a ``hater of women and all other confusion,'' Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with himself.
His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she picked up her needle.
The man laughed happily at her confusion.
``What are you doing? Is that my stocking?'' he demanded.
A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face.
``Why, Cyril, of course not! You--you told me not to, long ago. You said my darns made-- bunches.
``Ho! I meant I didn't want to wear them,'' retorted the man, upon whom the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed ``bunches'' had been quite lost. ``I love to see you mending them,'' he finished, with an approving glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him.
A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.
Why, Cyril, you mean you like to have me mend them just for--for the sake of seeing me do it, when you know you won't ever wear them?''
``Sure!'' nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he asked: ``I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?''
Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head.
``I'm afraid not, Cyril.''
``Nor cook?''
Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled from her eyes
``Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings--for you.''
``For _me!_''
Marie puckered her lips queerly.
``Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for Bertram, though.''
``Humph!'' grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: ``I judge Kate thinks Billy'll never make them--for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate isn't pleased.''
``Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was--was disappointed in the wedding,'' apologized Marie, quickly. ``You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she didn't like such a simple one.
``Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral--I mean, her wedding,'' retorted Cyril, dryly. ``Kate is never happy, you know, unless she's managing things.''
``Yes, I know,'' nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at certain features of her own wedding.
``She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either,'' remarked Cyril, after a moment's silence.
``I thought her guests were lovely,'' spoke up Marie, in quick defense. ``Of course, most of her social friends are away--in July; but Billy is never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always trying to lionize her and Bertram.''
``Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy needn't have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.''
``Nonsense!'' cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. ``I suppose she said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches.''
``Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must admit,'' laughed Cyril; ``what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling, too! But who were they all, anyway?''
``Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course--and Pete,'' smiled Marie. ``And