the child into the country, where it would be better cared for than it could be at home with Katy constantly undoing all Mrs. Kirby had done, disregarding her orders, waking it from sleep whenever the fancy took her, and in short treating it much as she probably did her doll when she was a little girl.  With the child away there would be nothing to prevent Katy’s going out as she used to do, and getting back her good looks, which were somewhat impaired.

“Why, she looks older than you do,” Wilford said, thinking thus to conciliate Helen, who quietly replied: 

“There is not two years difference between us, and I have always been well, keeping regular hours until I came here.”

Wilford’s compliment had failed, and more annoyed than before, he asked, not what Helen thought of the arrangement, but if she would influence Katy to act and think rationally upon it; “at least you will not make it worse,” he said, and this time there was something quite deferential and pleading in his manner.

Helen knew the matter was fixed, that neither Katy’s tears nor entreaties would avail to revoke the decision, and so, though her whole soul rose in indignation against a man who would deliberately send his nursing baby from his roof because it was in his way, and was robbing his bride’s cheek of its girlish bloom, she answered composedly: 

“I will do what I can, but I must confess it seems to me an unnatural thing.  I had supposed parents less selfish than that.”

Wilford did not care what Helen had supposed, and her opposition only made him more resolved.  Still he did not say so, and he even tried to smile as he quitted the table and remarked to her: 

“I hope to find Katy reconciled when I come home.  I think I had better not go up to her again, so tell her I send a good-by kiss by you.  I leave her case in your hands.”

It was a far more difficult case than either he or Helen imagined, and the latter started back in alarm from the white face which greeted her view as she entered Katy’s room, and then with a moan hid itself in the pillow.

“Wilford thought he had better not come up, but he sent a kiss by me,” Helen said, softly touching the bright, disordered hair, all she could see of her sister.

“It does not matter,” Katy gasped.  “Kisses cannot help me if they take my baby away.  Did he tell you?” and she turned now partly toward Helen, who nodded affirmatively while Katy continued:  “Had he taken a knife and cut a cruel gash it would not have hurt me half so badly.  I could bear that, but my baby—­oh, Helen, do you think they will take her away?”

She was looking straight at Helen, who shivered as she met an expression so unlike Katy, and so like to that a hunted deer might wear if its offspring were in danger.

“Say, do you think they will?” she continued, shedding back with her thin hand the mass of tangled curls which had fallen about her eyes.