beard! What shall we do? We don't want a big man with a brown beard—here!”
Billy laughed roguishly.
“I don't know. You asked him! How he will like that little blue room—Aunt Hannah!” Billy's voice turned suddenly tragic. “For pity's sake take out those curling tongs and hairpins, and the work-basket. I'd never hear the last of it if he saw those, I know. He's just that kind!”
A half stifled groan came over the wire.
“Billy, he can't stay here.”
Billy laughed again.
“No, no, dear; he won't, I know. He says he's going to a hotel. But I had to bring him home to dinner; there was no other way, under the circumstances. He won't stay. Don't you worry. But good-by. I must go. Remember those curling tongs!” And the receiver clicked sharply against the hook.
In the automobile some minutes later, Billy and Mr. M. J. Arkwright were speeding toward Corey Hill. It was during a slight pause in the conversation that Billy turned to her companion with a demure:
“I telephoned Aunt Hannah, Mr. Arkwright. I thought she ought to be—warned.”
“You are very kind. What did she say?—if I may ask.”
There was a brief moment of hesitation before Billy answered.
“She said you called yourself 'Mary Jane,' and that you hadn't any business to be a big man with a brown beard.”
Arkwright laughed.
“I'm afraid I owe Aunt Hannah an apology,” he said. He hesitated, glanced admiringly at the glowing, half-averted face near him, then went on decisively. He wore the air of a man who has set the match to his bridges. “I signed both letters 'M. J. Arkwright,' but in the first one I quoted a remark of a friend, and in that remark I was addressed as 'Mary Jane.' I did not know but Aunt Hannah knew of the nickname.” (Arkwright was speaking a little slowly now, as if weighing his words.) “But when she answered, I saw that she did not; for, from something she said, I
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