“First it was for father that I kept the secret.  He seemed so stricken after—­after he was alone.  And then—­since I was trying to be to you what mother wanted me to be—­it did not seem greatly to matter.  I wanted to win my way.  I always meant to tell you, and now, after these weeks of misunderstanding, I felt you should know that there will always be a reason for me, of all the world, to share your life.”

“I see!  I see!” A great wave of emotion rose and rose, carrying the past years of misery with it.  The knowledge, once, might have saved him, but now it had come too late.  By and by he would be able to deal with this staggering truth that had been so suddenly hurled upon him, but not now while Katherine Kendall’s daughter knelt at his side!

“Lynda, I cannot talk to you about this.  When you are older—­when life has done its best or its worst for you—­you will understand better than you do to-day; but remember this:  what you have told me has cut deep, but it has cut, by one stroke, the hardness and bitterness from my heart.  Remember this!”

Then with a sudden reversion to his customary manner he said: 

“And now tell me about Morrell.”

Lynda started; the situation puzzled her.  She had meant to comfort—­instead she seemed to have hurt and confused her old friend.

“About John Morrell?” she murmured with a rising perplexity; “there isn’t much to tell.”

“I thought it was a long story, Lynda.”

“Somehow it doesn’t seem long when you get close to it.  But surely you must see, Uncle William, that after—­after father and mother—­I would naturally be a bit keener than most girls.  It would never do for me to marry the wrong man and, of course, a girl never really knows until—­she faces the situation at close quarters.  I should never have engaged myself to John Morrell—­that was the real mistake; and it was only when he felt sure of me—­that I knew!  Uncle William, I must have my own life, and John—­well, he meant to have his own and mine, too.  I couldn’t stand it!  I have struggled up and conquered little heights just as he has—­just as Con and Brace have; we’ve all scrambled up together.  It didn’t seem quite fair that they should—­well, fly their colours from their peaks and that I should” (here Lynda laughed) “cuddle under John’s standard.  I don’t always believe in his standard; I don’t approve of it.  Much as I like men, I don’t think they are qualified to arrange, sort, fix, and command the lives of women.  If a woman thinks the abdication justifies the gains, that’s all right.  If I had sold myself, honourably, to John Morrell I would have kept to the agreement; I hate and loathe women who don’t!  I’m not belittling the romance and sentiment, Uncle William, but when all’s told the usual marriage is a bargain and half the women whine about holding to it—­the others play up and, if there is love enough, it pans out pretty well—­but I couldn’t!  You see I had lived with father and mother—­felt the lack between them—­and I saw mother’s eyes when she—­let go and died!  No!  I mean to have my own life!”