“This house,” Truedale was saying, “was meant for your mother.  I left it bare and ready for her taste and choice.  After—­I go, I want you to fit it out for her—­and me!  You must do it at once.”

“No!  No!” Lynda put up a protesting hand, but Truedale smiled her into silence and went on:  “I may let you begin to-morrow and not wait!  You must fill the bare corners—­spare no expense.  You and I will be quite reckless; I want this place to be a—­home at last.”

And now Lynda’s eyes were shining—­her rare tears blinded her.

“You have always tried indirectly, Lynda, to secure Con’s greatest good; you have done it!  I mean to leave him a legacy of three thousand a year.  That will enable him to let up on himself and develop the talent you think he has.  I have seen to it that the two faithful souls who have served me here shall never know want.  There will be money, and plenty of it, for you to carry out my wishes regarding this house, should—­well—­should anything happen to me!  After these details are attended to, my fortune, rather a cumbersome one, goes to—­Dr. McPherson, my old and valued friend!”

Lynda started violently.

“To—­to Dr. McPherson?” she gasped, every desire for Conning up in arms.

“There! there! do not get so excited, Lynda.  It is only for—­three years.  McPherson and I understand.”

“And then?”

“It will go to Conning—­if—­”

“If what?” Lynda was afraid now.

“If he—­marries you!”

“Oh! this is beyond endurance!  How could you be so cruel, Uncle William?” The hot, passionate tears were burning the indignant face.

“He will not know.  The years will test and prove him.”

“But I shall know!  If you thought best to do this thing, why have you told me?”

“There have been hours when I myself did not know why; I understand to-night.  Your mother led me!”

“My mother could never have hurt me so.  Never!”

“You must trust—­her and me, Lynda.”

“Suppose—­oh! suppose—­Con does not ...  Oh! this is degrading!”

“Then the fortune will—­be yours.  McPherson and I have worked this out—­most carefully.”

“Mine!  Mine!  Why”—­and here Lynda flung her head back and laughed relievedly—­“I refuse absolutely to accept it!”

“In that case it goes—­to charities.”

A hush fell in the room.  Baffled and angry, Lynda dared not trust herself to speak and Truedale sank back wearily.  Then came a rattle of wheels in the quiet street—­a toot of a taxi horn.

“Thomas has not forgotten to provide for your home trip; but the man can wait.  The night is mild”—­Truedale spoke gently—­“and you and I are rich.”

Lynda did not seem to hear.  Her thoughts were rushing wildly over the path set for her by her old friend’s words.

“Conning would not know!” she grasped and held to that; “he would be able to act independently.  At first it had seemed impossible.  Her knowledge could affect no one but herself!  If”—­and here Lynda breathed faster—­“if Conning should want her enough to ask her to share his life that the three thousand dollars made possible, why then the happiness of bringing his own to him would be hers!—­hers!”