Miss Barry was keenly aware of King's failure to mention Linda in this matter so nearly concerning her. It was only the relief of the news to her own heart which softened her sufficiently not to be glad of this punishment to the cruel young sufferer opposite. She hoped remorse would follow the reading in Linda's case. She held out the letter in silence. The girl shrank and made a quick, protesting gesture. "I can't--I can't bear any more!" she said. "You can bear this," returned Miss Barry. "But you're crying!" "With joy, Belinda." When her aunt gave the girl her full name it meant either a climax of indignation or a moment of sacred solemnity. That she knew well. She regarded the letter with apprehension as she accepted it, and at once recognizing King's writing a sort of hard strength stole over her expression as she instinctively prepared to resist his statements. He was smooth and self-contained and clever. He could deceive Aunt Belinda and Harriet, but he could not deceive her. After a moment of vigorous application of her handkerchief to her eyes, Miss Barry put on her spectacles again, and leaning back in the seat deliberately prepared to watch the effect upon her niece of Bertram King's letter. Linda's lips, set firmly as she began, slowly relaxed as she read on, and her eyes grew darker. She began to breathe faster, and before she finished such an expression came over the young face that the older woman could no longer look, but closed her eyes and waited. It seemed to her a long time before she opened them again to find Linda regarding her. Life had revived in the large mourning eyes. "Thank you, Aunt Belinda. May I keep it a little while?" "You may keep it always," said Miss Barry solemnly. "It is more yours than mine. Isn't that a wonderful young man, Belinda Barry? Didn't I always say your father was too clever to trust the wrong people?" "Bertram is clever," said Linda simply. Miss Barry eyed her curiously, far from satisfied. "It's just," she thought, "as if some mental starch had gone all through the girl." She wondered if her niece had no regret, no shame, that she had put herself so beyond the pale that Bertram ignored her. "Really she is a handsome creature," thought Miss Barry, still regarding her vis-à-vis with some sternness. "I hope as soon as we get home you will make haste to tell Mr. King that you appreciate all he has done." "I do appreciate all he has done," said Linda, still with the exalted look in her eyes, "but he is doing his best to make up for it, Aunt Belinda." She leaned over far enough to put her hand on Miss Barry's knee, "If this comes out as Bertram hopes I will believe in God." "Why, my dear child!" exclaimed the other. "I tell you if a man like my father could be remembered in Chicago as touched by the faintest shade of dishonor, I should know that there couldn't be any God of justice."