man's life!" my companion broke out with a passion that startled me.

At first I could only gape. "Dear lady, what do you mean?"

She bent her face into her hands, covering it over with them, and so
remained a minute; then she continued a little differently, though as if
she hadn't heard my question: "I hoped you were too disgusted with us--
after the way we left you planted."

"It was disconcerting assuredly, and it might have served if Linda
hadn't written. That patched it up," I gaily professed. But my gaiety
was thin, for I was still amazed at her violence of a moment before. "Do
you really mean that she won't do?" I added.

She made no direct answer; she only said after a little that it didn't
matter whether the crisis should come a few weeks sooner or a few weeks
later, since it was destined to come at the first chance, the favouring
moment. Linda had marked my young man--and when Linda had marked a
thing!

"Bless my soul--how very grim--" But I didn't understand. "Do you mean
she's in love with him?"

"It's enough if she makes him think so--though even that isn't
essential."

Still I was at sea. "If she makes him think so? Dear old friend, what's
your idea? I've observed her, I've watched her, and when all's said what
has she done? She has been civil and pleasant to him, but it would have
been much more marked if she hadn't. She has really shown him, with her