“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 assurance 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?”