CYRIL TAKES HIS TURN
Billy had been a member of the Beacon Street household a week before she repeated her visit to Cyril at the top of the house.
This time Bertram was not with her. She went alone. Even Spunk was left behind--Billy remembered her prospective host's aversion to cats.
Billy did not feel that she knew Cyril very well. She had tried several times to chat with him; but she had made so little headway, that she finally came to the conclusion--privately expressed to Bertram--that Mr. Cyril was bashful. Bertram had only laughed. He had laughed the harder because at that moment he could hear Cyril pounding out his angry annoyance on the piano upstairs--Cyril had just escaped from one of Billy's most determined "attempts," and Bertram knew it. Bertram's laugh had puzzled Billy--and it had not quite pleased her. Hence to-day she did not tell him of her plan to go up-stairs and see what she could do herself, alone, to combat this "foolish bashfulness" on the part of Mr. Cyril Henshaw.
In spite of her bravery, Billy waited quite one whole minute at the top of the stairs before she had the courage to knock at Cyril's door.
The door was opened at once.
"Why--Billy!" cried the man in surprise.
"Yes, it's Billy. I--I came up to--to get acquainted," she smiled winningly.
"Why, er--you are very kind. Will you--come in?""Thank you; yes. You see, I didn't bring Spunk. I--remembered."Cyril bowed gravely.
"You are very kind--again," he said.
Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not "getting on"at all. She determined on a bold stroke.
"You see, I thought if--if I should come up here, where there wouldn't be so many around, we might get acquainted," she confided;"then I would get to like you just as well as I do the others."At the odd look that came into the man's face, the girl realized suddenly what she had said. Her cheeks flushed a confused red.
"Oh, dear! That is, I mean--I like you, of course," she floundered miserably; then she broke off with a frank laugh. "There! you see I never could get out of anything. I might as well own right up.
I DON'T like you as well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!"Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, something that was very like interest came into his eyes.
"Oh, you don't," he retorted. "Now that is--er--very UNkind of you."Billy shook her head.
"You don't say that as if you meant it," she accused him, her eyes gravely studying his face. "Now I'M in earnest. _I_ really want to like YOU!""Thank you. Then perhaps you won't mind telling me why you don't like me," he suggested.
Again Billy flushed.
"Why, I--I just don't; that's all," she faltered. Then she cried aggrievedly: "There, now! you've made me be impolite; and I didn't mean to be, truly.""Of course not," assented the man; "and it wasn't impolite, because I asked you for the information, you know. I may conclude then,"he went on with an odd twinkle in his eyes, "that I am merely classed with tripe and rainy days.""With--wha-at?"
"Tripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, that you don't like."The girl stared; then she chuckled.
"There! I knew I'd like you better if you'd only SAY something,"she beamed. "But let's not talk any more about that. Play to me;won't you? You know you promised me 'The Maiden's Prayer.'"Cyril stiffened.
