"It's the one I always called your father's room, Linda," said Miss Barry, as she ushered her in.
Mrs. Porter, after brief explanation of her preparations, had remained below stairs to leave them alone.
Linda looked from the windows on the limitless ocean, dotted with distant sails; on the fleecy islands of cloud in a sky as blue, as limitless.
She turned back to her companion. A look of satisfaction had overspread her aunt's wan face.
"You've been very good to me, Aunt Belinda," she said deliberately. "I've known it all the time, but I shall appreciate it more and more."
"Well, well, that's all right, child," returned the other hastily. "I think there's everything here to make you comfortable. The bathroom's here, between your room and mine; and if there's anything you want that you don't see, just let me know."
She went out and left Linda standing there, her wide gaze fixed on the open sea and ships. Islands were but distant scenes from the Cape. Here the granite cliffs rose high and higher. She could get glimpses along the shore of their hollows, which soon would shelter luxuriant deep-pink wild roses, but now waved with snowy daisies, flirting with the foam which ever sought to reach them.
An hour afterward she went downstairs, and found Mrs. Porter sitting with a book in the glassed-in end of the veranda.
"See? I've been saving this hammock for you," said Mrs. Porter, looking up.
Linda stood still and smiled, looking with fascinated eyes at the sea.