Blanchard Amy Ella
Talbot's Angles

CHAPTER VI
AN INQUISITIVE NEIGHBOR

Miss Ri returned in due time. The girls were at breakfast when she came in bearing a small package which she laid on the table, a merry twinkle in her eye. "Well, girls," she exclaimed, "so nobody has carried you off, I see."

The girls laughed. "No one has, although – " began Linda.

"Don't tell me anything has happened," exclaimed Miss Ri. "Now isn't that just the way? I might stay at home a thousand years and nothing would happen. Tell me about it. I'm glad it's Saturday, Verlinda, so you don't have to hurry. Just touch the bell for Phebe to bring in some hot coffee. I don't take meals on the boat when I know what I can get at home. Those rolls look delicious."

"Did you have a good trip, Miss Ri?" asked Bertie.

"Never had such a stupid one. I didn't get a good state-room going up, and what with the men talking in the cabin outside my door all night, and the calves bleating in their stalls below, I did not get a wink of sleep, and there never was such a stupid sale."

"Sale? Oh, you went to a sale? Of what?" Bertie was interested.

"Oh, just things – all kinds of things," returned Miss Ri vaguely. Then, turning her attention to her breakfast she said, "Go on now, and tell me all that has been going on."

The girls delivered themselves of the news of their adventure with supposed burglars to the great entertainment of Miss Ri, and then a message coming to Bertie from her mother, she departed while Miss Ri finished her breakfast.

"I've almost as good a tale to tell myself," remarked that lady as she folded her napkin. "I think I shall have to tell you, Linda, but you must promise not to repeat it. I couldn't have told it to Bertie for she would never rest till she had passed it on. However, I can trust you, and you mustn't hint of it to Bertie of all people."

Linda gave the required promise, Miss Ri picked up her wraps and the small bundle, and proposed they should go into the sitting-room where the sun was shining brightly. They settled themselves comfortably and Miss Ri proceeded to unfold her secret. "Berk was entirely too keen when he said I had a special purpose in going to town periodically," she began. "I have a harmless little fad, Verlinda; it is nothing more nor less than the buying of "old horse" if you know what that is."

"I'm sure I don't," Linda confessed.

"It's the stuff that collects at the express office; it may have been sent to a wrong address, or in some way has failed of being delivered. When it has accumulated for so many months they sell it at auction to the highest bidder. I have had some rare fun over it for it is much on the principle of a grab-bag at a fair. Of course I never venture a large sum and I generally go early enough to look around and make up my mind just what I will bid on. Once I had a whole barrel of glass ware knocked down to me; another time I was fortunate enough to get a whole case of canned goods of all sorts. This time – " she shook her head as denying her good luck. "I saw this neat little package which looked as if it might contain something very nice; it had such a compact orderly appearance, so I bid on it, only up to fifty cents, Verlinda, and when I came out of the place to take the car I couldn't forbear from tearing the paper in order to peep in. I saw a nice wooden box, and I said to myself, 'Here is something worth while.' I had some errands to do before boat time so didn't examine further until I was in my state-room, then I opened the box and what do you think I found?"

"I can't imagine." Linda's curiosity was aroused. She looked interestedly at the small parcel.

"I found a bottle," Miss Ri chuckled, "a bottle of what is evidently nice, home-made cough syrup, sent by some well-meaning mother to her son who had left the address to which it was sent. As I haven't an idea of the ingredients I don't dare pass it along to anyone else. I was tempted to chuck it in the river, but I thought I would bring it home to you." She made great form of presenting it to Linda who took it laughing.

"I'll give it to Phebe," declared the girl. "She'd love to take it when she has a 'mis'ry in her chist.'"

"Don't you do it," cried Miss Ri in alarm. "It might make her really ill, and then who would cook for us? Give it right back to me." She possessed herself of the bottle, trotted back to the dining-room where she emptied the contents into the slop-bowl, returning to the sitting-room with the empty bottle in her hand. "You can have the bottle," she said, "and the nice wooden box. I don't want to keep any reminder of my folly."

"And you have sworn off?"

Miss Ri laughed. "Not exactly. At least I've sworn off before, but I am always seized with the craze as soon as I see the advertisement in the paper. Once I was cheated out of a dollar by getting a box of decayed fruit, and another time I got a parcel of old clothes that I gave to Randy after making her boil them to get rid of any lingering microbes. This is the third time I have been bamboozled, but very likely next time I will draw a prize. Goodness, Verlinda, if here doesn't come Grace and her sister. Do you suppose they are off for the city to-night?"

"I think it is very probable," returned Linda as she followed Miss Ri to the door.

Even though she did not admire Grace Talbot, Miss Ri could not be anything but graciously hospitable, and was ready to greet the visitors heartily as they came up on the porch. "Well, Mrs. Talbot," she exclaimed, "come right in. This is your sister, isn't it? How are you, Miss Johnson. It is lucky you chose Saturday when Linda is at home. You'll stay to dinner, of course. Here, let me take those bags. Are you on your way to the city?"

"Yes," returned Grace, "we're leaving for the winter. Howdy, Linda." She viewed her sister-in-law critically, finding her paler and thinner, but keeping the discovery to herself. Lauretta, however, spoke her thought. "I don't believe town agrees with you as well as country, Linda. You look a little peaked."

"That comes from being shut up in a school-room," Miss Ri hastened to say; "it is trying work."

"She will get used to it in time," Grace replied. "Why, there is Miss Sally Price about as sturdy and rosy as anyone I know, and she's been teaching twenty-five years. What lovely old tables you have, Miss Ri. They remind me of grandmother's, don't they you, Lauretta? Dear grandmother, she was such a very particular old dame and would have her mahogany and silver always shining. I remember how she would say to her butler, 'James, that service is not as bright as it should be.'" Grace's imitation of her various forbears always conveyed the idea that they were most haughty and severe personages who never spoke except with military peremptoriness. She was constantly referring to grandmother Johnson, or great-uncle Blair or someone utterly irrelevant to the topic of the moment, and as entirely uninteresting to her audience.

"Did you leave everything all right at the farm?" asked Linda, hastening to change the subject. She knew that great-uncle Blair would be paraded next, if the slightest opportunity was allowed.

"Everything is as it should be," returned Grace high-and-mightily. "You didn't suppose for an instant, Linda, that I would leave anything at loose ends. Of course, it has been most arduous work for Lauretta and I, but we have the satisfaction of knowing that we have not neglected anything. I am completely fagged out, and feel that a rest is essential."

Miss Ri's eye travelled from Grace's plump proportions to Linda's slight figure. "Well," she said bluntly, "work evidently agrees with you, for I never saw you looking better."

Grace bit her lip and searched her mind for a fitting retort but could only say piously, "One must bear up for the sake of others. The world cannot see behind the scenes, my dear Miss Hill, and that a smile may hide a breaking heart."

"Come up and see my room," proposed Linda, anxious to prevent what promised to be a passage at arms between Miss Ri and Grace. "Come, Lauretta, I want you to see the view from my windows." And so she managed to get them away before there were any hurt feelings.

After this matters passed off well enough, although great-uncle Blair was dragged in more than once at the dinner table, and grandmother Johnson's haughty attitude toward underlings was again reproduced for the benefit of all. Miss Ri chafed under the affectations, but was too polite to show it, though when the door at last closed upon her guests she turned to Linda.

"I'm glad enough they are not your blood kin, Verlinda Talbot. I hope Heaven will give me patience always to behave with politeness when Grace Talbot is around. A daily dose of her would be too much for my Christian forbearance. I wonder you stood her so long, and what Martin was thinking of to be blinded by a superficial, shallow, underbred creature like that is beyond me."

"Grace has her good points," said Linda with an effort to be loyal. "I think she was genuinely fond of Martin."

"You mean she was fond of his fondness for her. There is a lot of difference, my dear. The idea of her trying to parade her ancestors before me. Why, old John Blair was the plainest of the plain, a decent, humble sort of man who accumulated a tidy little sum which his sister Eliza Johnson inherited; the Johnsons hadn't a picayune; I know all about them. I have heard my grandfather speak of John Blair and his sister a dozen times. They lived down in East Baltimore and he had a little carpenter shop. Grandfather used to tell a funny story of how Blair brought him in a bill in which he had spelled tacks, t-a-x. 'That isn't the way to spell tacks, John,' said grandfather. John scratched his head and looked at the bill. 'Well, Mr. Hill,' he said; 'if t-a-x don't spell tacks, what do it spell?' He was a good honest man enough, and afterward became a builder, but he never put on any airs, as why should he? You may talk a great deal about your grandfather, and make much display of your family silver, my dear, but if you don't speak correct English the ancestors don't count for much. Evidently Grace thinks solid silver is vastly more important than correct speech."

"You certainly are put out of humor this time, Miss Ri."

"Oh, such people exasperate me beyond words. 'Major Forbes sent tickets to Lauretta and I.' To I, forsooth. 'Mrs. General So-and-So invited Grace and I to tea.' Invited I, did she?"

"It seems there is a necessity for a schoolmarm in the family," remarked Linda.

"Yes, but the unfortunate part of it is that they haven't a ghost of an idea that they do need one. Well, let them go up to the city, to their Major Forbes and their Mrs. Generals, I say, and I hope to goodness Grace will marry her major and good luck to him."

"Oh, Miss Ri."

"I can't help it. Let me rave for awhile. I shall feel better afterward. Did you ever know such a talker as she is? She is as bad as Becky, and did you hear Lauretta? 'Poor dear Grace does so draw upon her vitality.' Oh, dear me, what fools we mortals be."

"And you are the one who never gets mad with fools."

"I don't, as a rule, but when a person is as many kinds of a fool as Grace is I can't grapple with all the varieties at one sitting. There now, I have finished my tirade. I won't abuse your in-laws any more. Let us hope they have passed out of our lives. Now let us talk about something pleasant. How do you like Mr. Jeffreys?"

"Is he something pleasant? I really haven't had a chance to decide. We met in the dark and we didn't exchange a dozen words. Bertie likes him."

Miss Ri sat looking out of the window, drumming on the arms of her chair with her strong capable fingers. "I wish I knew," she murmured; "I wish I knew. Has Berk been here?" she asked presently.

"If you call his nocturnal prowlings visits, he has."

"Oh, I don't mean those, but, of course, he wouldn't come. I must see him. I think I'd better call him up, although he is pretty sure to look in upon us this evening."

After the strain consequent upon Grace's visit, Linda felt that even Miss Ri's cheerful chatter was more than she could stand, so she sought an opportune moment to escape to the lawn and from there to wander down the box-bordered walks to the foot of the garden. The chickens in Miss Parthy's premises on the other side of the fence, were discoursing in their accustomed manner before going to roost, making contented little sounds as someone threw them handfuls of grain. Once in a while would come a discordant "Caw! Caw!" as an over-greedy rooster would set upon one less aggressive. It all sounded very homelike and Linda wondered how matters were going with the familiar flocks she had left at home. Grace's coming, her talk of affairs at the farm had made a great wave of homesickness come over the girl as she approached the fence to look at Miss Parthy's chickens. These, she discovered, were being fed with careful hand by some other than Miss Parthy. A young man with crisp auburn hair, which was cropped close. He had a good figure, and rather a serious expression. His eyes, much the color of his hair, were turned quickly upon Linda as her face appeared above the fence. "Good-evening, Miss Talbot," he said.

"Good-evening, Mr. Jeffreys," she returned. "How is it you are taking Miss Parthy's tasks upon yourself?"

"Oh, I begged leave to do it. I like it. Don't you think chickens are very amusing? They are as different in character as people, and give me as much amusement as a crowd of human beings. Look at that ridiculous little hen; she reminds me of a girl scared by a mouse the way she jumps every time I throw down a handful of food."

"Don't you think," said Linda mockingly, "that it is more reasonable to be afraid of creepy things like mice than to be frightened out of your wits by a paper bag?"

"You have me there," returned the young man. "That was certainly one on us. I hope you have not been disturbed since."

"Oh, no, and now my natural protector has returned, I shall feel perfectly safe. You know Miss Ri, I believe."

"Oh, yes. She is a most interesting character. She doesn't run from mice, I fancy."

"No, and neither do I."

"Really? Then you are a rarity whom I am fortunate in meeting. I understand, Miss Talbot, that your home is some distance from this town."

"My home was some distance, about seven miles away."

"On Broad Creek? Do the Talbots come from that neighborhood?"

"Yes, they are old settlers. We hold the original land grant from Lord Baltimore."

"That is interesting. Did you ever happen to know of a Madison Talbot who lived – let me see – about 1812 or thereabouts?"

"Why, yes. That was the name of my great-grandfather."

"It was?"

"Why do you ask?" inquired Linda curiously.

"Oh, because I have heard the name. My grandfather has mentioned him. I believe he knew him, and coming down to this unexplored region, I am naturally reminded of anyone who might have been connected with what I have heard of it."

"Unexplored? Do you mean by yourself?"

"Well, yes, and by some others. I doubt if the majority of those one meets could locate this special town, for instance."

"Anyone who knows anything must have heard of it," said Linda with innocent conviction.

"Oh, I am not disparaging it. In some respects it is the nicest place I ever saw. Tell me something about your home there on Broad Creek."

Linda's eyes grew wistful. "It is the dearest spot on earth. The house is old and low and queer, with rambling rooms that go up a step here, down one there. The water is always in sight, and through the trees you can see the old church; it is on our ground, you know, and there is an old windmill on the place. I should hate to have that old windmill taken away. I used to watch its long arms go around and around when I was a child, and I made up all sorts of tales about it."

"How many acres are there?" Mr. Jeffreys asked the practical question suddenly.

"About two or three hundred. There was another farm. It all belonged to the same estate originally, or at least there were two farms, and ours is the older. My brother brought it up wonderfully, and it is in very good condition now. My father was in ill health for years and when he died his affairs were in a sad state; the farm was not making anything till my brother took hold of it."

"And it is yours?"

Linda wondered at the question. She colored with both indignation and confusion. "It is my home," she replied with dignity, "and it is the dearest spot on earth to me." Having made this answer she turned from the fence and resumed her walk while Mr. Jeffreys gave one wide flourish with his pan of screenings and then walked thoughtfully back to the house where Miss Parthy waited supper.

CHAPTER VII
WAS IT CURIOSITY?

"Don't talk to me about the curiosity of women," said Linda coming upon Miss Ri after her return walk. "The new importation at Miss Parthy's is certainly the most inquisitive person it has ever been my lot to meet. I was prepared to like him from what Bertie told me, but I never met a man who could ask such personal questions upon such short acquaintance."

"Why, Linda, I never thought he could be called exactly rude. Perhaps he doesn't pay one those little courteous attentions that we are used to down here, though he is polite enough as I remember. Parthy and I have wondered whether he could be an adventurer, or whether he were a visionary sort of person or what, but we have come to the conclusion that he is neither."

"I shouldn't be at all surprised if he were an adventurer and that he has come down here to hunt up some unsuspecting damsel with property of her own whom he could beguile into marrying him."

"Why, my child, did he ask you to marry him?"

"Oh, dear no, I hope not, since my first real conversation with him has just taken place, but he wanted to know all about Talbot's Angles, how much land there was and all that, and he wound up by inquiring if it belonged to me."

"That does look somewhat suspicious, though it does not show much tact, if his object is really what you surmise. A real adventurer would make his inquiries of someone else. I wouldn't judge him too severely. He says he is looking up an old claim, you know, and it may lie near your place. I would wait and see what happens."

"Tell me, Miss Ri, did he bring any sort of credentials with him?"

"Yes, I think so, at least he gave Berk a business card and said he was well known by the insurance company by whom he had been employed in Hartford, and that he had friends there who could vouch for him, and he said he had a number of letters in his trunk."

"Oh, says, says; it's easy enough to say. I don't believe he ever had a trunk, and I believe his story is made out of whole cloth."

"Why, Verlinda, dear, I never knew you so bitter. Do give the lad a chance to prove himself."

"I thought you didn't want me to know him. You know you said you weren't going to have him come when I was at home."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean that exactly; I only wanted to provide against your flying off into a sentimental attitude, but now you have gone to the other extreme; I don't want that either. Parthy says there never was a more considerate man, and that he is not any trouble at all. Of course, he hasn't the little thoughtful ways that Berk has; he doesn't always stand with his hat off when he is talking to me in the street, and he doesn't rise to his feet every time I leave my chair, and stand till I am seated. He has allowed my handkerchief to lie till I chose to pick it up myself, and doesn't always spring to open the door for me; in those things he differs from Berk, but he is certainly quiet and dignified. There comes Berk now, Verlinda; I knew he'd be along about supper time."

Berkley's broad shoulders were seen over the rows of chrysanthemums and scarlet salvia as he took a leisurely passage up the gravelled walk. He waved a hand in greeting. "I knew I wasn't too late because I saw you both from the street."

"And of course you hurried before that?" questioned Miss Ri.

"Yes, I always make it a point to hurry if there is a chance of being late to supper, but I never hurry when there is no need to. I don't wish to squander my vital energies, you see. What's for supper, Miss Ri?"

"You haven't been invited to take it with us, yet."

"I don't have to be. Once, many a year ago, you said, 'Berk, drop in whenever you feel like it,' and I have piously enshrined that saying upon the tablets of my memory. Once invited, always invited, you see, so I repeat my anxious query: what's for supper?"

"I am sure I don't know. Linda did the ordering this morning for I wasn't here."

"Tell me, Linda." Berkley had dropped formalities since the evening of song.

Linda shook her head. "As if I could be expected to remember things that occurred this morning before breakfast; so many things have happened since then."

"Things have happened in this blessed sleepy old place? That is news. I didn't know anything could happen in Sandbridge."

"Oh, they might not be important to you, but they are to me."

"Then, of course, they are important to me."

"A very nice speech, sir. Well, in the first place, Miss Ri has returned, as you see. Then Grace and Lauretta were here and have just departed for the city."

"For good?"

"Let us hope it is for good only," put in Miss Ri.

"Sh! Sh!" warned Linda. "That wasn't pretty, Miss Ri. Then I have been talking over the fence to your friend, Mr. Jeffreys, and he has aroused my antagonism to a degree."

"He has?" Berkley looked surprised. "I don't see why or how he could do that."

"Wait till she tells you, Berk," Miss Ri spoke up. "I am going in to tell Phebe to set another place at table. If I am to have guests thrust upon me whether I invite them or not, I must be decent enough to see that they have plates to eat from." She left the two to saunter on to the house while she entered the path which led to the kitchen.

Linda recounted her tale to which Berk listened attentively. "What do you think of a man who would put such questions to a perfect stranger?" queried Linda.

Berkley knit his brows. "Looks like one of two things; either unqualified curiosity or a deeper purpose, that of finding out all about the farm on account of personal interest in it."

"But what nonsense. You don't mean he thinks that's the place to which he lays claim? Why, we've held the grant for hundreds of years."

"We don't know what he thinks; I am not saying what are the facts; I am only trying to account for his interest."

"Miss Ri thought he might be interested because his claim may perhaps touch our property somewhere, and that there may be some question of the dividing line."

"That could very well be. At all events, I don't believe it was idle curiosity. I'll sound him a little if I can, but he is a reticent sort of fellow, and as dumb as an oyster about that matter, though there is really no use in his talking till he gets his papers, which, poor fellow, it's mighty unlikely he'll ever find."

"I'd hate a prying neighbor," remarked Linda.

"You're not liable to have one from present indications. If I had time I'd really like to look into some of the old titles, and see just how the property in the vicinity of Talbot's Angles has come down to the present owners. I know about a good many, as it is. Your brother sold off Talbot's Addition, didn't he?"

"Yes. You know my father had mortgaged it up to the hilt, and then Mart sold it in order to get rid of the interest and to have something to put into the home place. He thought he would rather hold one unencumbered place and have some money to improve it than to struggle along with two places."

"Good judgment, too. If I am not mistaken there was still more property belonging to the Talbot family originally. Wasn't Timber Neck theirs at one time?"

"I believe so, though it was so long ago that I don't remember hearing much about it."

"I see. Well, here we are, and I think there must be crab cakes from the odor."

"So there are; I remember now. I knew Miss Ri was fond of them and no one can make them as well as Phebe."

The supper set forth on the big round table displayed the crab cakes, brown and toothsome, the inevitable beaten biscuits on one side, and what Phebe called "a pone of bread" on the other. There were, too, some thin slices of cold ham, fried potatoes and a salad, while the side table held some delectable cakes, and a creamy dessert in the preparation of which Phebe was famous. No one had ever been able to get her exact recipe, for "A little pinch" of this, "a sprinkling" of that, and "what I thinks is right" of the other was too indefinite for most housekeepers. Many had, indeed, ventured after hearing the ingredients but all had failed.

"This is a supper fit for a king," said Berkley, sitting down after a satisfied survey of the table.

"You might have just such every day," returned Miss Ri.

"Please to tell me how. Do you mean I could induce Phebe to accept the place of head cook at the hotel?"

"Heaven forbid. No, bat, of course not."

"Why bat?"

"You are so blind, just like most conceited young men who might have homes of their own if they chose."

"Please, Miss Ri, don't be severe. You haven't the right idea at all. Don't you know it is my lack of conceit which prevents my harboring the belief that I could induce anyone to help me to make a home?"

"I don't know anything of the kind. I know it is your selfish love of ease and your desire to shirk responsibility."

"Listen to her, Linda. She will drive me to asking the first girl I meet if she will marry me. You might do it, by the way, and then we might take our revenge by luring Phebe away from her. Of course, Phebe would follow you. I wonder I never thought of that before."

"You are a flippant, senseless trifler," cried Miss Ri with more heat than would appear necessary. "I won't have you talking so of serious subjects."

"So it is a serious subject to your mind?" Berkley laughed gleefully.

But Miss Ri maintained a dignified silence during which Berkley made little asides to Linda till finally Miss Ri said placidly, "I told Linda not long ago that I never got mad with fools, and," she added with a gleam of fun in her eyes, "I'm not going to begin to do it now."

"You have the best of me as usual, Miss Ri," laughed Berkley, "although I might get back at you, if one good turn deserves another. By the way, Linda, did you ever hear the way old Aaron Hopkins interprets that?"

"No, I believe not."

"Someone sent him a barrel of apples last year, and he told me the other day that he expected the same person would send another this year. 'He sent 'em last year,' said the old fellow, 'and you know 'one good turn deserves another.' He is a rare old bird, is Aaron."

"He certainly is," returned Linda. "I think it is too funny that he named his boat the Mary haha. He told me he thought that Minnehaha was a nice name for young folks to use, 'but for an old fellow like me it ain't dignified,' he said."

"Tell Berk what he said to your brother when he came back from college," urged Miss Ri.

"Oh, yes, that was funny, too. You know Mart had been away for three years, and he met old Aaron down by the creek one day. I doubt if Aaron has ever been further than Sandbridge in his life. He greeted Mart like one long lost. 'Well, well,' he said, 'so you've got back. Been away a right smart of a time, haven't you?' 'Three years,' Mart told him. 'Where ye been?' 'To New Jersey.' 'That's right fur, ain't it?' 'Some distance.' 'Beyand Pennsylvany, I reckon. Well, well, how on airth could you stand it?' 'Why, it's a pretty good place, why shouldn't I stand it, Aaron?' said Mart. 'But it's so durned fur from the creek,' replied Aaron."

"Pretty good," cried Berkley. "A true Eastern shoreman is Aaron, wants nothing better than his boat and the creek. Good for him."

They lingered at table talking of this and that till presently there came a ring at the door. Phebe lumbered out to open. She was unsurpassed as a cook, but only her extreme politeness excused the awkwardness of her manner as waitress. "It's dat Mr. Jeffs," she said in a stage whisper when she returned. "He ask fo' de ladies."

"Then you will have to come, Linda," said Miss Ri, "and you, too, Berk."

"Of course, I'll come," replied the young man.

"You don't imagine I am going to stay here by myself while you two make eyes at an interloper." And he followed the two to the drawing-room into which Phebe had ushered the visitor.

The young man sitting there arose and came forward, and after shaking hands with Miss Ri he said, "I believe you have not formally presented me to your niece, Miss Hill, though I was so unceremonious as to talk to her over the fence this evening."

"You mean Linda. She is not my niece; I wish she were. How would it do for me to adopt you as one, Verlinda? I'd love to have you call me Aunt Ri."

"Then I'll do it," returned the girl with enthusiasm.

"Then, Mr. Jeffreys, allow me to present you to my adopted niece, Miss Verlinda Talbot, and beware how you talk to her over the fence. I am a very fierce duenna."

The young man smiled a little deprecatingly, not quite understanding whether this was meant seriously or not, and wondering if he were being censured for his lack of ceremony.

"I presented Mr. Jeffreys quite properly myself," spoke up Berkley. "To be sure, it was in the dark and he wasn't within gun-shot. I haven't recovered from my scare yet, have you, Jeffreys? Next time you go to town, Miss Ri, I am going with you, for I don't mean to be left behind to the tender mercies of anyone as bloodthirsty as Linda."

They all laughed, and the visitor looked at the two young people interestedly. Evidently they were on excellent terms. He wondered if by any chance an engagement existed between them, but when later Bertie Bryan came in, and he saw that Berk treated her with the same air of good comradeship, he concluded that it was simply the informality of old acquaintance, though he wondered a little at it. In his part of the country not even the excuse of lifelong association could set a young man so at his ease with one of the opposite sex, and he was quite sure that he could not play openly at making love to two girls at once. However, they spent a merry time, Linda, under the genial influence of her friends, was livelier than usual, and however much she may have resented Mr. Jeffreys' inquisitiveness earlier in the day, on further acquaintance she lost sight of anything but his charm of manner and his art of making himself agreeable.