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