Gillis was engaged to the Spencervale school-teacher, about whom all the girls were said to be quite wild.
“I’ll soon be the only fancy-free maiden of our old quartet,” thought Anne, drowsily. Aloud she said, “Of course.”
“Anne,” said Jane, still more solemnly, “what do you think of my brother Billy?”
Anne gasped over this unexpected question, and floundered helplessly in her thoughts. Goodness, what did she think of Billy Andrews? She had never thought ANYTHING about him—round-faced, stupid, perpetually smiling, good-natured Billy Andrews. Did anybody ever think about Billy Andrews?
“I—I don’t understand, Jane,” she stammered. “What do you mean—exactly?”
“Do you like Billy?” asked Jane bluntly.
“Why—why—yes, I like him, of course,” gasped Anne, wondering if she were telling the literal truth. Certainly she did not dislike Billy. But could the indifferent tolerance with which she regarded him, when he happened to be in her range of vision, be considered positive enough for liking? What was Jane trying to elucidate?
“Would you like him for a husband?” asked Jane calmly.
“A husband!” Anne had been sitting up in bed, the better to wrestle with the problem of her exact opinion of Billy Andrews. Now she fell flatly back on her pillows, the very breath gone out of her. “Whose husband?”
