“Aunt Billy,” began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the other's face, “you _are_ married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?” “I certainly am, my dear,” smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly. “Well, then, what makes you forget it?” “What makes me forget--Why, child, what a question! What do you mean? I don't forget it!” exclaimed Billy, indignantly. “Then what _did_ mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself--she didn't know I heard, though--that she did wish you'd remember you were Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother.” Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs. Hartwell came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly. “There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her just now, and she said she hadn't.” “Hadn't what?” questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes. “Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife.” “Kate,” interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze, “will you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?” Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture. “Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train,” she said to her daughter. “Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to talk. Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say,” she added warningly, as she saw unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face. “I wish,” pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the door, “that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to stay!” “Well, Kate?” prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl. “Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put her finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I saw. I promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how Bertram and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering in affairs that don't concern me--though, for that matter, if my own brother's affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should! “But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I saw. And I haven't--except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but I suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy. It seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's wife as well as the baby's mother.” “That, I am--I don't think I quite understand,” said Billy, unsteadily. “No, I suppose you don't,” sighed Kate, “though where your eyes are, I don't see--or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, _always_. It's all very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you certainly are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never thought you would be. But _can't_ you see what you're doing to Bertram?” “_Doing to Bertram!_--by being a devoted mother to his son!”