This broke the spell. Mary sprang to her feet and rushed into Catherine's arms, kissing her with great warmth. Catherine returned the embrace in a shy manner that seemed cold; she was ashamed of being effusively affectionate, especially before strangers; but she felt as if her very soul was going out to the girl who hung about her neck. She said in a quiet voice: "I should have come long ago, you know, Mary, but the doctor would not hear of it." She still held the girl's hand in her own, unwilling to part with it. "I know that. But, oh! I have so longed to see you, aunt dear--and I have so much to talk to you about!" "We will have a long chat together to-morrow morning, Mary, before I go; but you must not tire yourself now. Indeed you do look better--much better," and she stepped back so as better to see her pupil. "What should we have done without you, Mrs. White? Ah! I have reason to be grateful to you for your kindness to my niece." "But, oh! I am altogether neglecting Tommy!" cried Mary; "poor little chap, sitting there all alone, covered with nasty soap-suds!--no one paying the slightest attention to him! Aren't they naughty, Tommy? No wonder he cries, poor little man!" She was beginning all her tender woman's nonsense with the child again, when her eyes suddenly met those of her mistress, and she became confused and silent again before that sad, puzzled gaze. Catherine felt she ought to say something complimentary to the mother; it was the usual thing, she supposed; so she spoke in a curious, constrained tone, hesitating between the words as if repeating a half-learned lesson: "That is your--youngest--I presume--Mrs. White? He is a--a fine--a fine boy." Mrs. White smiled involuntarily at the stiff manner of the woman; could this be the kind, sympathetic aunt whom Mary had praised so warmly? "Yes," she replied; "he is the youngest of the three--a great friend of Mary's; isn't he, Mary?" "Ah!" ejaculated Catherine, and lapsed into awkward silence again. Everything was so strange to her that she could not collect her thoughts at all. "Leave him to me, darling--I'll dry him," said the mother to Mary; and the little mortal was soon dried, chuckling and crowing again in a warm blanket. He looked at the stranger and laughed, pointing to her with his chubby fist to attract her attention. "He has evidently taken to you, Mrs. King," said the proud mother. "Isn't he a fine boy?" and she handed him to her--the baby stretching out his arms and kicking lustily in his eagerness to be taken up by a new friend. Catherine mechanically took him in her arms and held him in a constrained, stiff way, looking at him as if he were some entirely new animal to her, and as if she did not know what to make of him, or whether he was dangerous or not. It had doubtlessly been a long time since she had held a baby in her arms, though she discussed them a good deal in the abstract.