“Up to Morrell’s.”

Lynda raised her eyebrows.

“Mrs. Morrell’s sister has come from the West, Lyn.  She’s very interesting.  She’s voted, and it hasn’t hurt her.”

“Why should it?  And”—­Lynda came around the table and paused as she was about to go out of the room “I wonder if she could pass the coffee-urn test, on a pinch?”

Kendall coloured vividly.  “I’ve been thinking more of my end of the table since I saw her than I ever have before in my life.  It isn’t all coffee-urn, Lyn.”

“Indeed it isn’t!  I must see this little womanly Lochinvar at once.  Is she pretty—­pretty as Mrs. John?”

“Why—­I don’t know.  I haven’t thought.  She’s so different from—­every one.  She’s little but makes you think big.  She’s always saying things you remember afterward, but she doesn’t talk much.  She’s—­she’s got light hair and blue eyes!” This triumphantly.

“And I hope she—­dresses well?” This with a twinkle, for Kendall was keen about the details of a woman’s dress.

“She must, or I would have noticed.”  Then, upon reflection, “or perhaps I wouldn’t.”

“Well, good-night, Brace, and—­give Mrs. John my love.  Poor dear! she came up to ask me yesterday if I could make a small room look spacious!  You see, John likes to have everything cluttered—­close to his touch.  She wants him to have his way and at the same time she wants to breathe, too.  Her West is in her blood.”

“What are you going to do about it, Lyn?” Kendall lighted a cigar and laughed.

“Oh, I managed to give a prairie-like suggestion of openness to her living-room plan and I told her to make John reach for a few things.  It would do him good and save her soul alive.”

“And she—­what did she say to that?”

“Oh, she laughed.  She has such a pretty laugh.  Good-night, brother.”

And then Lynda went upstairs to her quiet, dim room.  It was a warmish night, with a moon that shone through the open space in the rear.  The lot had not been built upon and the white path that had seemed to lure old William Truedale away from life now stretched before Lynda Kendall, leading into life.  Whatever doubts and fears she had known were put away.  In her soft thin dress, standing by the open window, she was the gladdest creature one could wish to see.  And so Truedale found her.  He knew that only one reason had caused Lynda to meet him as she was now doing.  It was—­surrender!  Across the moon-lighted room he went to her with opened arms, and when she came to meet him and lifted her face he kissed her reverently.

“I wonder if you have thought?” he whispered.

“I have done nothing else in the ages since I last saw you, Con.”

“And you are not—­afraid?  You, who should have the best the world has to offer?”

“I am not afraid; and I—­have the best—­the very best.”

Again Truedale kissed her.