Billy found much food for thought, some for amusement, and a little that made for peace of mind.

On the whole it opened up a new phase of the matter, perhaps.

At all events, upon finishing it she almost sobbed: "One would think that just because I write a song now and then, I was going to let Bertram starve, and go with holes in his socks and no buttons on his clothes!" It was that afternoon that Billy went to see Marie; but even there she did not escape, for the gentle Marie all unknowingly added her mite to the woeful whole.
Billy found Marie in tears.
"Why, Marie!" she cried in dismay.
"Sh-h!" warned Marie, turning agonized eyes toward the closed door of Cyril's den.
"But, dear, what is it ?" begged Billy, with no less dismay, but with greater caution.
"Sh-h!" admonished Marie again.
On tiptoe, then, she led the way to a room at the other end of the tiny apartment.

Once there; she explained in a more natural tone of voice: "Cyril's at work on a new piece for the piano." "Well, what if he is ?" demanded Billy.

"That needn't make you cry, need it ?" "Oh, no--no, indeed," demurred Marie, in a shocked voice.
"Well, then, what is it ?" Marie hesitated; then, with the abandon of a hurt child that longs for sympathy, she sobbed: "It--it's just that I'm afraid, after all, that I'm not good enough for Cyril." Billy stared frankly.
"Not _good_ enough, Marie Henshaw! Whatever in the world do you mean ?" "Well, not good _for_ him, then.