She had been perfectly sure that the enamored Billy had no chance at all of inducing Anne to marry him.
Anne permitted herself to smile in the darkness over the idea that she might ever regret not marrying Billy Andrews.
"I hope Billy won't feel very badly over it," she said nicely.
"Certainly not," said Anne, who had no desire whatever to publish abroad the fact that Billy Andrews wanted to marry her, preferring her, when all was said and done, to Nettie Blewett.
Billy Andrews had got his sister to propose for him because his father had given him the upper farm; and if Anne wouldn't "have him" Nettie Blewett would.
Billy burst into hearty laughter, in which Bert joined.
Billy discreetly began to make conversation with Saxon.
As she talked, Billy followed her solemnly, his eyes steadily turned on hers.
"My folks lived in America a long time," Billy said slowly, digesting the information she had given and relating himself to it.
"An' my mother, too," Billy added, pride touching his own voice.
"When your folks was waitin' for the railroad to be built an' all the Indians killed off before they dasted to start for California," was Billy's way of proclaiming the new alliance.
At a near table girls were calling out to Billy. And Saxon, the sense of temporary possession already strong on her, noted with jealous eyes that he was a favorite and desired object to them.
And in Billy's eyes she saw moody anger smouldering.
Every face at the table was turned on Billy. The offendor arose brokenly, shook off the detaining hand of his girl, and came over.
Gruffly, Billy said, "It's all right--forget it, sport;" and sullenly he shook hands and with a slow, massive movement thrust the other back toward his own table.
