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 t<e^>te-<a!>-t<e^>tes with her small guest. But to-day they were alone together.
``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 Iheard, 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 Iwant 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 Icame. 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!''
``Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the boy? He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and entirely out of sorts.''
``Yes, I know; but that's his arm,'' pleaded Billy. ``Poor boy--he's so tired of it!''
Kate shook her head decisively.
``It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening? Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one evening since I came? And as for the days--he's almost never here.''
``But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't need to stay so closely at home,'' defended Billy. ``He goes out to find distraction from himself.''
``Yes, `distraction,' indeed,'' sniffed Kate.
``And where do you suppose he finds it? Do you _know_ where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much `distraction' outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too Bohemian, and--''
Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand.
``Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular as to what you say.''
``Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,'' shrugged Kate. ``All is, you may remember sometime that I warned you--that's all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think 'twould be a lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give him a little attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him at home a bit more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril says he saw him last week with Bob Seaver.''
``With--Bob--Seaver?'' faltered Billy, changing color.
``Yes. I see you remember him,'' smiled Kate, not quite agreeably. ``Perhaps now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it.''
``I'll remember it, certainly,'' returned Billy, a little proudly. ``You've said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've remembered them all--every one.''
It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it.
``Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there _hasn't_ been much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll find there is,'' she finished, with an air of hurt dignity.
Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in the baby.
