Part 31 (1/2)

”Men never grow up!” Lynda pressed her face to his shoulder, ”they make a bluff at caring for us and defending us and all the rest--but we understand, we understand! I think women mother men always even when they rely upon them most, as I do upon you! It's so splendid to think, when we go home, of the great things we are going to do--together.”

A letter from Brace, eventually, made them turn their faces homeward. It was late July then.

LYN, DEAR:

When you can conveniently give me a thought, do. And when are you coming back? I hope I shall not shock you unduly--but it's that little sister of the Morrells that is the matter, Elizabeth Arnold--Betty we call her. I've got to marry her as soon as I can.

I'll never be able to do any serious business again until I get her behind the coffee-urn. She haunts me day and night and then when I see her--she laughs at me! We've been over to look at that church where you and Con were married. Betty likes it, but prefers her own folk to stray old women and lost kids. We think September would be a jolly month to be married in, but Betty refuses to set a day until she finds out if she approves of my people! That's the way _she_ puts it. She says she wants to find out if you believe in women's voting, for if you don't, she knows she never could get on with you. She believes that the thing that makes women opposed, does other things to them--rather unpleasant, unfriendly things.

I told her your sentiments and then she asked about Con. She says she wouldn't trust the freest woman in the East if she were married to a slave-believing man.

By all this you will judge what a comical little cuss Betty is, but all the same I am quite serious in urging you to come home before I grow desperate.

BRACE.

Truedale looked at Lynda in blank amazement. ”I'd forgotten about the sister,” he said, inanely.

”I think, dear, we'll _have_ to go home. I remember once when we were quite little, Brace and I, mother had taken me for a visit and left him at home. He sent a letter to mother--it was in printing--'You better come back,' he said; 'You better come in three days or I'll do something.' We got there on the fourth day and we found that he had broken the rocking chair in which mother used to put him to sleep when he was good!”

”The little rowdy!” Truedale laughed. ”I hope he got a walloping.”

”No. Mother cried a little, had the chair mended, and always said she was sorry that she had not got home on the third day.”

”I see. Well, Lyn, let's go home to him. I don't know what he might break, but perhaps we couldn't mend it, so we'll take no chances.”

Truedale and Lynda had walked rather giddily upon the heights; the splendour of stars and the warm touch of the sun had been very near them; but once they descended to the paths of plain duty they were not surprised to find that they lay along a pleasant valley and were warmed by the brightness of the hills.

”It's--home, now!” whispered Truedale as he let himself and Lynda in at the front door, ”I wish Uncle William were here to welcome us. How he loved you, Lyn.”

Like a flood of joy memory overcame Lynda. This was how William Truedale had loved her--this luxury of home--and then she looked at Truedale and almost told him of the money, the complete a.s.surance of the old man's love and trust. But of a sudden it became impossible, though why, Lynda could not have said. She shrank from what she had once believed would be her crowning joy; she decided to leave the matter entirely with Dr.

McPherson.

After all, she concluded, it should be Con's right to bring to her this last touching proof of his uncle's love and desire. How proud he would be! How they would laugh over it all when they both knew the secret!

So the subject was not referred to and a day or so later Betty Arnold entered their lives, and so intense was their interest in her and her affairs that personal matters were, for the moment, overlooked.

Lynda went first to call upon Betty alone. If she were to be disappointed, she wanted time to readjust herself before she encountered other eyes. Betty Arnold, too, was alone in her sister's drawing room when Lynda was announced. The two girls looked long and searchingly at each other, then Lynda put her hands out impulsively:

”It's really too good to be true!” was all she could manage as she looked at the fair, slight girl and cast doubt off forever.

”Isn't it?” echoed Betty. ”Whew! but this is the sort of thing that ages one.”

”Would it have mattered, Betty, whether I was pleased or not?”

”Lynda, it would--awfully! You see, all my life I've been independent until I met Brace and now I want everything that belongs to him. His love and mine collided but it didn't shock us to blindness, it awakened us--body and soul. When that happens, everything matters--everything that belongs to him and me. I knew you liked Mollie, and John is an old friend; they're all I've got, and so you see if you and I hadn't--liked each other, it would have been--tragic. Now let's sit down and have tea.

Isn't it great that we won't have to choke over it?”

Betty presided at the small table so daintily and graciously that her occasional lapses into slang were like the dartings of a particularly frisky little animal from the beaten track of conventions. She and Lynda grew confidential in a half hour and felt as if they had known each other for years at the close of the call. Just as Lynda was reluctantly leaving, Mrs. Morrell came in. She was darker, more dignified than her sister, but like her in voice and laugh.

”Mollie, I wish I had told you to stay another hour,” Betty exclaimed, going to her sister and kissing her. ”And oh! Mollie, Lynda likes me!