"More than that, Linda Barry," continued her aunt crisply, "that young man would have had to be guilty of designing your father's downfall to deserve such words and such a manner as yours." The girl eyed the speaker steadily, and again the fire of excitement glowed in her look. "You saw that he could not answer my question." "I saw that he would not." "It would be a good plan for you to talk with some of the prominent business men of the town," remarked Linda, the light going out of her eyes. "I don't need any business man to tell me that that poor boy is about used up--and in whose service, pray? Answer me that, Linda Barry." "Mammon," was the sententious reply. "Pshaw!" ejaculated her aunt. "A clever man like your father didn't trust that man for no reason. Harriet's and my heart just ached for the poor fellow this afternoon. I thought for a minute after you went out that he was going to faint." "Yes," returned Linda listlessly; "I suppose he had been sure no one would hold him in any way responsible." The servant here came in to spread the little table for dinner, while Miss Barry, her hands tightly locked together, gave her indignant thoughts free rein, and followed Bertram King to his room at the club. Had she really been able to see him, she would have witnessed his finding upon his arrival a letter in Mrs. Porter's handwriting. His white, stoical face did not change while he read it:-- * * * * * _Dear Bertram_,-- I want to send you a few lines to the club, because I feel sure there will be a quieter atmosphere there than at the office these troublous days. There is never an hour in which my thoughts do not go to you and Linda, fellow sufferers and both so dear to me. I can scarcely wait for the day when your duties will let you leave Chicago and come here. Doubtless Linda will arrive soon, and here you will both find healing for your sorrow, and if it is right, find each other. She will have a double reason for nearness to you as the chief earthly link with her dear father, and here in this simplicity and quiet the real things of life are more easily discernible. Complications seem to have no place in these broad, harmonious spaces, and both you dear ones can forget the fevers of sorrowful excitement. Let me hear from you. Yours as ever, MAUD. It was by return mail that Mrs. Porter received the answer to this letter. She opened it with eagerness:-- * * * * * _Dear Maud_,-- Thank you for your letter and far more for your affection. It is some comfort, while I am locking horns with enemies, or endeavoring to untangle labyrinths, to know that there's a good little woman ready to coddle me when I have time to be coddled.