is concerned. The young mother,
wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets
that she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the
nursery. She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to
dress up, because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper.
She will not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to
the baby. She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice.
In vain her husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has
neither eyes nor ears for him, only for baby.

"Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own
child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course;
but that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife
occasionally, nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic
interest. It is an admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a
devoted mother; but maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands
have some rights as well as offspring; and the wife who neglects
her husband for her babies does so at her peril. Home, with the wife
eternally in the nursery, is apt to be a dull and lonely thing to the
average husband, so he starts out to find amusement for himself--and he
finds it. Then is the time when the new little life that is so precious,
and that should have bound the two more closely together, becomes the
wedge that drives them apart."

Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the
book back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers
shook. Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic
Bliss with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that
Awful Thing--a _Wedge_. And Bertram--poor Bertram, with his broken arm!
She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with him. And
when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's work and
plans?

But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out
with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She
would ask about his work, and seem interested. She _was_ interested. She
remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a
new portrait, and of a new "Face of a Girl" that he had planned to do.
Lately he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged--and
no wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should
see! And forthwith Bi