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!"

"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