Filled with this vision she had fled to Betty’s, only to find that Betty had fled on her own account!

There was no moment of indecision; welcome or not, Lynda had to reach Betty—­and at once!

She had tarried, after setting her face to the river.  She even stopped at a quiet little tea room and ate a light meal.  Then she waited until the throng of business men had crossed the ferry to their homes.  It was quite dark when she reached the wooded spot where, hidden deep among the trees, was Betty’s retreat.

There was a light in the house—­the living room faced the path—­and through the uncurtained window Lynda saw Betty sitting before the fire with her little dog upon her lap.

“Oh, Betty,” she whispered, stretching her arms out to the lonely little figure in the low, deep chair.  “Betty!  Betty!” She waited a moment, then she tapped lightly upon the glass.  The dog sprang to the floor, its sharp ears twitching, but he did not bark.  Betty came to the door and stood in the warm, lighted space with arms extended.  She knew no fear, there was only doubt upon her face.

“Lyn, is it you?”

“Yes!  How did you guess?”

“All day I’ve been thinking about you—­wanting you.  Sometimes I can bring people that way.”

“And I have wanted you!  Betty, may I stay—­to-night?”

“Why, yes, dear.  Stay until you want to go home.  I’ve been pulling myself together; I’m almost ready to go back to Brace.  Come in!  Why—­what is it, dear?  Come, let me take off your things!  There!  Now lie back in the chair and tell Betty all about it.”

“No, no!  Betty, I want to sit so—­at your feet.  I want to learn all that you can teach me.  You have never had your eyes blinded—­or you would know how the light hurts.”

“Well, then.  Put your blessed, tired head on my knee.  You’re my little girl to-night, Lyn, and I am your—­mother.”

For a moment Lynda cried as a child might who had reached safety at last.  Betty did not check or soothe the heavy sobs—­she waited.  She knew Lynda was saved from whatever had troubled her.  It was only the telling of it now.  And presently the dark head was lifted.

“Betty, it is Con and I!”

“Yes, dear.”

“I’ve loved him all my life; and I believe—­I know—­he loved me!  Women do not make mistakes about the real thing.”

“Never, Lyn, never.”

“Betty, once when I thought Con had wronged me, I wanted to come to you—­I almost did—­but I couldn’t then!  Now that I am sure I have wronged him, it is easy to come to you—­you are so understanding!” The radiance of Lynda’s face rather startled Betty.  Abandon, relief, glorified it until it seemed a new—­a far more beautiful face.

“All my life, Betty, I’ve been controlling myself—­conquering myself.  I got started that way and—­and I’ve kept on.  I’ve never done anything without considering and weighing; but now I’m going to fling myself into love and life and—­pay whatever there is to pay.”