The baby changed from a novelty into a treasure; to the period of ecstatic delight there succeeded the scientific business of infant care. The expert nurse having brought her patient back to Carrington and attended her there until she was full of renewed energy, left and Cecily took charge of her own baby. There was a nursemaid during the daytime, but at night when the sudden, piercing little cry sounded from the next room it was Cecily herself who went to find out whether it was hunger or cold that caused it. The responsibility matured her as responsibility matures the average woman. It tired her physically and numbed her mind a little. “You mustn’t let your cradle become an obsession,” said her mother. “Of course not. I wouldn’t let myself get too absorbed. It wouldn’t be fair to Dick,” said Cecily, rather automatically. “I wonder if you give Dick quite the attention you used to?” Cecily looked up, surprised. “It’s very common,” said her mother easily, “to think too much about the baby and too little about the husband at this time. I hope I don’t seem intrusive, darling, but you stay at home rather a lot.” “I have to get back to the baby, you see, if I do go out.” “The baby is six months old, now. You and Dick ought to go away for a vacation. I’ll stay here and get a trained nurse for the baby.” Cecily did not take her up, but she watched Dick that night at dinner. They did not seem to talk as much as they used to--except about Dorothea. She crossed over to his place and put her hand softly under his chin. “Do I neglect you, Dick, dear--for the baby?” “Do I look neglected?” countered Dick. “Nonsense. Don’t talk like a problem play. Besides, how could you neglect me for Dorothea? She’s me, isn’t she?” And he smiled engagingly as only Dick could smile. “If I catch you neglecting me, you’ll hear from me. Who brought this on? Who’ve you been talking to?” “Nobody. Mother just suggested that I might be a bit too concentrated. She wanted me to go away and leave her in charge.” “Good idea. I think I could do it next month--if we aren’t going to war.” “We must wait until after Christmas,” demurred Cecily. But after Christmas they did not go at once. In January Cecily paid a secret visit to her doctor. When she came home she sat down in her straightest living-room chair and looked about her a little queerly. She was still sitting there half an hour later when Dick came home. “Well,” said Dick, “how’s my family?” Cecily made a feeble little joke, which showed considerable progress in adjustment. “Increasing,” she said, with a catch in her voice. Dick wheeled around. “Why, Cecily,--why, you don’t mean we’re going to have another!” She nodded at him, a medley of expressions on her face, all of them overlaid with that wondering question as to how he would take it. “You’re sure?” “Quite.”