"
"I wouldn't o' come up atal," he went on, "if I hadn't o'
read in de poiper how youse an' Mallory had busted. I
t'ought I'd breeze in an' see wot de trouble was."
His eyes had been averted, mostly, as he talked. Now he
swung suddenly upon her.
"He's on de square, ain't he?" he demanded.
"Yes," said Barbara. She was not quite sure whether to feel
offended, or not. But the memory of Billy's antecedents came
to his rescue. Of course he didn't know that it was such
terribly bad form to broach such a subject to her, she
thought.
"Well, then," continued the mucker, "wot's up? Mallory's
de guy fer youse. Youse loved him or youse wouldn't have
got engaged to him."
The statement was almost an interrogation.
Barbara nodded affirmatively.
"You see, Billy," she started, "I have always known Mr.
Mallory, and always thought that I loved him until--until--"
There was no answering light in Billy's eyes--no encouragement
for the words that were on her lips. She halted lamely.
"Then," she went on presently, "we became engaged after we
reached New York. We all thought you dead," she concluded
simply.
"Do you think as much of him now as you did when you
promised to marry him?" he asked, ignoring her reference to
himself and all that it implied.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271