I was too jealous.

But now--well, now maybe I want him to see what he's lost." "_Bertram!_" But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay "Good-by till to-night, then!" Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against the wall a little palpitatingly.
Calderwell! To dinner--Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell?
Did she, indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or two, had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who had said that Bertram would never love any girl, _really_; that it would be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved--to paint?
And now he was coming to dinner--and with Bertram.
Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram _did_ love her; _her_--not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head.

He should see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted and _satisfied_ Bertram was in his home.

He should see! And forthwith Billy picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very prettiest house-gown to do honor to the occasion.

Up-stairs, however, one thing and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned her attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether to be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine, or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crepe de Chine and swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again.
Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it.
This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her.
"Is that you, ma'am ?" "Why, yes, Eliza ?" "Yes'm, it's me, ma'am.