Miss Billy Married | Page 5

thing wanted?
``And think of her ignorance of cooking--but, there! What's the use?
They're married now, and it can't be helped.
``Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one;
besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I
could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I
saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone
it--though I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made
that tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice.
``However, we shall see what we shall see. As 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