Miss Billy Married Part 42

"All right," agreed Bertram, dully. "Suit yourself."

Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than half an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of anything but those words.

"The truth?" the great surgeon had said. "Well, the truth is--I'm sorry to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it--you've painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear.

It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious injury of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters worse, the bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not be helped, of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at the time of the injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but--well, you asked for the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you."

CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER--THE WIFE

Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least, he would tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed himself under the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take the prescribed treatment and await results as patiently as he could.

Meanwhile there was no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else with the matter.

Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her husband during those days just before Christmas.

"Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?" she asked one morning, when the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual.

Bertram frowned and did not answer directly.

"Lots of good I am these days!" he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the armful of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. "What are those for-the tree?"

"Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram," exulted Billy. "And, do you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things--little as he is," she went on eagerly. "He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him still a minute!"

"How about his mother?" hinted Bertram, with a faint smile.

Billy laughed.

"Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself," she confessed, as she hurried out of the room with her parcels.

Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently.

"I wonder what she'd say if she--knew," he muttered. "But she sha'n't know--till she just has to," he vowed suddenly, under his breath, striding into the hall for his hat and coat.

Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be.

Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband and three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On Christmas Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down from the Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young host and his twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades were to be drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might be no loss of effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded with fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys, Tommy Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all over again.

From garret to bas.e.m.e.nt the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its bit of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything--holly, ribbon, tissue, and tinsel--led to the mysteriously closed doors of the great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too, that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt peculiarly forlorn and "out of it." No wonder, also, that he took himself literally out of it with growing frequency.

Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue, and tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter.

It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and happy--that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to seem pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing to mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only the extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the occasion, and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and delight of all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice, but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her.

Billy did, however, remember her opening remarks.

"Well, little Kate, do you remember me?" Billy had greeted her pleasantly.

"Oh, yes," little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. "You're my Aunt Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you said you would first."

Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on eagerly:

"And I've been wanting just awfully to see you," she announced.

"Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered," smiled Billy.

"Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever wished that you _had_ married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?"

"Kate!" gasped her horrified mother. "I told you--You see," she broke off, turning to Billy despairingly. "She's been pestering me with questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may remember; it made a great impression on her at the time."

"Yes, I--I remember," stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her embarra.s.sment.

"But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle William, or Uncle Cyril," interposed little Kate, persistently.

"No, no, of course not!" exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting her eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she spied Delia with the baby coming toward them. "There, look, my dear, here's your new cousin, little Bertram!" she exclaimed. "Don't you want to see him?"

Little Kate turned dutifully.

"Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says _they're_ real pretty and cunning."

"Er--y-yes, they are," murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the "they're" had not been lost.

Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little Kate's opening remarks.

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 tete-a-tetes 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 I heard, 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?"