"Yes, of course. I believed you did, upon my honor. I've had so little time, you see, and you've been so busy." He seemed so innocent of offense that her anger gave way to the habitual exasperation. "Bertram King," she said,--and if there is such a thing as stormy dignity her manner expressed it,--"I believe the grind of business has dried up your brains. I could count on the fingers of one hand the occasions on which you have expressed even approval of me." Her nostrils dilated as she spoke. Her companion's solemn visage suddenly beamed in a smile. "You remember them, then," he returned, with a pleased naïveté which nearly wrecked her severity; but she held her pose. "You dared to speak to my dear father--I think you have him mesmerized, I really do--you dared to speak to him seriously of--of--caring for me, when you have criticized nearly every move I have made at home for four years." "Have I? I don't remember saying anything discourteous to you." "You didn't need to," retorted Linda. She didn't wish to snap, she wished to freeze, but old wounds ached. "Your actions, your looks, were quite enough." "My looks?" repeated King mildly. "I'm sure you exaggerate. It must have been these glasses: the wrong shape or something." He took them off and regarded them critically. "I hate your jokes!" retorted the girl, hotly. "Hate what you like so long as it isn't me!" "It is you!" The words came with emphasis. "Then you do like me." King nodded. "It's an admission." "You disgust me with your silliness," she returned, turning away. "I wonder what has become of Fred Whitcomb." She rose and swept to the bay window. King followed her. "Fred's a good fellow. I always liked Whitcomb," he said. Linda made no response to this. She scanned the road anxiously up and down. There was another interim of silence; then:-- "Your father would be pleased, Linda," ventured King. "He said so." "You hypnotize him. _I_ said so. My father," she added with scorn,--"my father like me to marry a man who always disapproved of me?" "Is that why you try to hate me?" asked King thoughtfully. "I have disapproved of you a good many times, but I do think that--considering everything--you've done very well." Linda, the all-conquering, the leader, the criterion, turned upon the speaker a gaze of amazement; then she laughed. "How kind! You overwhelm me." "Yes, I do really think so. Considering your beauty, your strength, your easy finances, your college crushes, your empress-like reign, you've done pretty well to consider others as much as you have." "Others?" the echo came crisply. "What others?" "Your father mainly." "My father!" Linda faced him now, and sparks were flying from the brown eyes. "Bertram King, I adore my father!" "Yes, I know,--when you have time." "What--what is it? Would you have had me not go to college?" "No,"--King spoke in a reasonable tone,--"you did right to go to college."