So there was nothing to do but to stammer out something--anything, that would help to keep her from yielding to that absurd and awful desire to fall on the old servant's neck and cry.
"Not another syllable!" she repeated sternly.
"Miss Billy!" choked Pete again.

Then he turned and fled with anything but his usual dignity.
Bertram called that evening.

When Billy came to him in the living-room, her slender self was almost hidden behind the swirls of damask linen in her arms.
Bertram's eyes grew mutinous.
"Do you expect me to hug all that ?" he demanded.
Billy flashed him a mischievous glance.
"Of course not! You don't _have_ to hug anything, you know." For answer he impetuously swept the offending linen into the nearest chair and drew the girl into his arms.
"Oh! And see how you've crushed poor Marie's table-cloth!" she cried, with reproachful eyes.
Bertram sniffed imperturbably.
"I'm not sure but I'd like to crush Marie," he alleged.
"Bertram!" "I can't help it.

See here, Billy." He loosened his clasp and held the girl off at arm's length, regarding her with stormy eyes.

"It's Marie, Marie, Marie--always.