Then, perhaps, just when he had nerved himself almost to the point of asking her what was the trouble, there would come another change, bringing back to him the old Billy, joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly caring nothing for anybody or anything but himself.

Scarcely, however, would he become sure that it was his Billy back again before she was off once more, quite beyond his reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice Greggory, playing with Tommy Dunn, plunging into some club or church work--anything but being with him.
That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once suspected.

Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and being an oak.
December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to her Boston home.

Bertram's arm was "as good as ever" now, according to its owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once.

This left Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his new work with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness, and a consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the first time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would be a credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source of pride to his once mortified friends.