"Why, Freddy, Freddy!" Bertram was all that. Why should Linda object to hearing it in good nervous English? "I had no idea you disliked Bertram so," she said. "Didn't you think he had his nerve to start out with us to-night? I don't understand how he was able to make me feel that way, but somehow it was just as if he said: 'Yes, you have my permission to take her driving this once. Be good children and enjoy yourselves.'" Linda laughed. "Imaginative, too! Why, I'm learning a lot about you to-night; and here I was thinking you were an open book!" "Not if you didn't know I was imaginative," declared Whitcomb. "If I should tell you of some pictures I draw--" He came a step nearer, and the girl shrank. "Good-night!" she exclaimed; "Father's pretty indulgent, but if he should wake up he might be worried. Good-night; I've had such a good time, Freddy." She gave him her firm, brief, boyish hand-shake, and glided within the door. It was still open and the house not lighted! Then her father-- "Linda, I'm in here, daughter." The voice came from the reception room, where earlier she had talked with King. With a swish of her motor coat the girl turned and entered the room, noting instantly and with relief that her father was leaning back in an armchair in the corner of the dark room farthest from the window. Then he had not overheard Whitcomb's talk. "Why aren't you in bed? Were you worried, dear?" she asked repentantly. "These June nights are all like day, aren't they?" She hurried forward, and sitting on the arm of her father's chair drew his head toward her and kissed his forehead, taking one of his hands into her lap. "One hasn't sense enough to go in on such a night. We left Sheridan Road as lively as if it were noon. Really I don't know what time it is now. Is it awfully late? I'm sorry if I worried you." "No, little one." The reply was gentle and abstracted. "I knew you were all right. I knew you were with Fred." "Why, how did you know it?" The sprightly, fresh voice sounded gay after the tired one. "Bertram told me." "Bertram!" The ejaculation was accusing. "Where have you seen him?" "At the office." "The office! Of all places this glorious night! Father, dear," reproachfully, "I thought you went off with Mr. Radcliffe to paint the town. That's what he told me. How could Bertram get hold of you? I'd have made Freddy tie him to our machine if I had suspected such a thing." "Mr. Radcliffe had some business to talk over, and the data were at the office." The utter weariness of the reply made the fresh face cling again against the speaker's gray head. "But Bertram came here to find you." "Yes, I got him at the club." Linda gave an inarticulate exclamation. "Oh, doesn't it just do me good to think how soon you'll be where offices and Bertrams are unknown!" she said slowly. The man in her embrace lifted her hand to his lips in silence.