At the station Mrs. Hartwell's train was found to be gratifyingly on time; and in due course Billy was extending a cordial welcome to a tall, handsome woman who carried herself with an unmistakable air of assured competence. Accompanying her was a little girl with big blue eyes and yellow curls. “I am very glad to see you both,” smiled Billy, holding out a friendly hand to Mrs. Hartwell, and stooping to kiss the round cheek of the little girl. “Thank you, you are very kind,” murmured the lady; “but--are you alone, Billy? Where are the boys?” “Uncle William is out of town, and Cyril is rushed to death and sent his excuses. Bertram did mean to come, but he telephoned this morning that he couldn't, after all. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you'll have to make the best of just me,” condoled Billy. “They'll be out to the house this evening, of course--all but Uncle William. He doesn't return until to-morrow.” “Oh, doesn't he?” murmured the lady, reaching for her daughter's hand. Billy looked down with a smile. “And this is little Kate, I suppose,” she said, “whom I haven't seen for such a long, long time. Let me see, you are how old now?” “I'm eight. I've been eight six weeks.” Billy's eyes twinkled. “And you don't remember me, I suppose.” The little girl shook her head. “No; but I know who you are,” she added, with shy eagerness. “You're going to be my Aunt Billy, and you're going to marry my Uncle William--I mean, my Uncle Bertram.” Billy's face changed color. Mrs. Hartwell gave a despairing gesture. “Kate, my dear, I told you to be sure and remember that it was your Uncle Bertram now. You see,” she added in a discouraged aside to Billy, “she can't seem to forget the first one. But then, what can you expect?” laughed Mrs. Hartwell, a little disagreeably. “Such abrupt changes from one brother to another are somewhat disconcerting, you know.” Billy bit her lip. For a moment she said nothing, then, a little constrainedly, she rejoined: “Perhaps. Still--let us hope we have the right one, now.” Mrs. Hartwell raised her eyebrows. “Well, my dear, I'm not so confident of that. _My_ choice has been and always will be--William.” Billy bit her lip again. This time her brown eyes flashed a little. “Is that so? But you see, after all, _you_ aren't making the--the choice.” Billy spoke lightly, gayly; and she ended with a bright little laugh, as if to hide any intended impertinence. It was Mrs. Hartwell's turn to bite her lip--and she did it. “So it seems,” she rejoined frigidly, after the briefest of pauses. It was not until they were on their way to Corey Hill some time later that Mrs. Hartwell turned with the question: “Cyril is to be married in church, I suppose?” “No. They both preferred a home wedding.” “Oh, what a pity! Church weddings are so attractive!” “To those who like them,” amended Billy in spite of herself. “To every one, I think,” corrected Mrs. Hartwell, positively.