It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and happy--that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to seem pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing to mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only the extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and delight of all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice, but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her. Billy did, however, remember her opening remarks. “Well, little Kate, do you remember me?” Billy had greeted her pleasantly. “Oh, yes,” little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. “You're my Aunt Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you said you would first.” Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on eagerly: “And I've been wanting just awfully to see you,” she announced. “Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered,” smiled Billy. “Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever wished that you _had_ married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?” “Kate!” gasped her horrified mother. “I told you--You see,” she broke off, turning to Billy despairingly. “She's been pestering me with questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may remember; it made a great impression on her at the time.” “Yes, I--I remember,” stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her embarrassment. “But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle William, or Uncle Cyril,” interposed little Kate, persistently. “No, no, of course not!” exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting her eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. “There, look, my dear, here's your new cousin, little Bertram!” she exclaimed. “Don't you want to see him?” Little Kate turned dutifully. “Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says _they're_ real pretty and cunning.” “Er--y-yes, they are,” murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the “they're” had not been lost. Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little Kate's opening remarks. Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results. Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided tête-á-têtes with her small guest. But to-day they were alone together.