"Yes, Bertram, yes," she responded joyfully. "I love you, Linda." Her heart bounded, and he felt it; and she did not change her position. "I shall always love you. Whitcomb has stirred your gratitude toward me. I don't care for it." "Yes, I know," answered the girl, still holding him close. "You wouldn't palm that off on me, would you?" "I want to be fair"--the response was low. King's hands lay loosely before him. "All that I am sure of is that I belong to you, Bertram." "Are you certain that's all? It's a good deal, but it's not enough." Linda's bosom labored. She remembered the longings of the last weeks, the many moments of despair. "Father loved you so," she uttered. "That's not enough, either." She drew herself gently away from him, but remained on her knees. He sat up in the low chair, and their faces were on a level. Into hers returned that look of riches unutterable and her eyes poured their gift into his. She clasped her hands across her breast as she gazed. The arms that had held him so close and protectingly felt empty. "I love you, Bertram," she said, the words falling from her lips like a vow. Instantly the man's loose-lying hands became vital. King clasped her to him. Their cheeks clung together and they kissed. CHAPTER XXVI A DIPLOMATIST Luella Benslow had enjoyed her round of afternoon calls. She had paraded the importance of the guests she was "accommodating" and had swelled with satisfaction in the interest she had elicited. In this complacent state of mind she was passing near Belinda Barry's cottage on the way home when she observed a strange object on the roof of the shed. The thing, whatever it was, moved, seeming to grow and shrink again before her eyes. Luella owned some spectacles, but they were worn only in private and reposed in these days in the kitchen drawer, from which they occasionally emerged stealthily when some exigency arose like the reading of a label on a spice box. It was out of her way to go nearer to the cottage, but that mysterious manifestation on the roof of the shed was too great a temptation for flesh and blood to resist. She changed her route and approached. In a minute the object, recognizing her, rose to its full height and faced her cautious advance. "For the land's sake!" exclaimed Miss Benslow in a minute more. She stood still. "Blanche Aurora Martin, what under the canopy are you doin' up there? Don't you know you'll defame them shingles?" Blanche Aurora looked down on the newcomer, who was dressed in her very best. About her neck hung chains enough to excite the envy of the aborigines. On her head she wore a hat with an ostrich feather which stood up bravely, although its appearance suggested that a sea-bath had been one of its many trying experiences. "I'll bet Belinda ain't to home," went on Miss Benslow accusingly, and the culprit stood at ease, her arms akimbo.