Very learnedly then from William's lips fell the new vocabulary that had come to him with his latest treasures: chrysoprase, carnelian, girasol, onyx, plasma, sardonyx, lapis lazuli, tourmaline, chrysolite, hyacinth, and carbuncle.
"They are lovely, perfectly lovely!" breathed Billy, when the last chain had slipped through her fingers into William's hand.

"I think they are the very nicest things you ever collected." "So do I," agreed the man, emphatically.

"And they are--different, too." "They are," said Billy, "very--different." But she was not looking at the jewelry: her eyes were on a small shell hairpin and a brown silk button half hidden behind a Lowestoft teapot.
On the way down-stairs William stopped a moment at Billy's old rooms.
"I wish you were here now," he said wistfully.

"They're all ready for you--these rooms." "Oh, but why don't you use them ?--such pretty rooms!" cried Billy, quickly.
William gave a gesture of dissent.
"We have no use for them; besides, they belong to you and Aunt Hannah.
You left your imprint long ago, my dear--we should not feel at home in them." "Oh, but you should! You mustn't feel like that!" objected Billy, hurriedly crossing the room to the window to hide a sudden nervousness that had assailed her.

"And here's my piano, too, and open!" she finished gaily, dropping herself upon the piano stool and dashing into a brilliant mazourka.
Billy, like Cyril, had a way of working off her moods at her finger tips; and to-day the tripping notes and crashing chords told of a nervous excitement that was not all joy.