"I ought to put the flowers in water," she remarked.
Linda's large, somber gaze rolled toward the display.
"Yes, please do," she said.
"H'm," thought Miss Barry as she rose. "One word for the flowers and two for herself. She wants 'em out of sight."
"I think we ought to enjoy the violets," she said aloud. "Such a cabbage of 'em must have cost that boy a pretty penny, and they won't live only so long, anyway. Poor Mr. Whitcomb, didn't he look pretty near ready to have apoplexy when he got off!"
"He's got over it by now," said Linda, in her quiet expressionless voice.
"He's the kindest boy that ever lived. I didn't realize how many little things there were to attend to in leaving, or I'd have had Henry do them; but Mr. Whitcomb came and put himself at my disposal, and I certainly disposed of him, the good boy."
"He is a good boy. He ought to hate us," declared the girl languidly.
"Why's that?"
"He told me a long time ago that he had invested in—in—" the speaker caught her lip under her teeth.