She came no nearer to the girl nor took her hand. It was a new Linda, cold, white, and undemonstrative except for her cruelty to Bertram King. Mrs. Porter steadied her own thought as it fled to him, and tried to think only of the needy one before her.
"You believed in my father—believed in him from the first. Bertram says now that he will be vindicated to all before very long; but I shall never forget those who believed in him from the first."
Mrs. Porter listened quietly to the low, vibrating voice. She saw the girl swallow and exercise self-control.
"Miss Barry tells me that my cousin wrote a letter to her, telling of hopeful conditions. She says that you have it. May I see it?"
"Yes. You deserve to see it. It is in my envelope of treasures: your letters." Linda's heart spoke through her eyes, then she arose.
"Let us go out of doors and read it," said Mrs. Porter. "We waste time in the house on such a day. Bring a warm wrap when you come down."
Linda went upstairs slowly. Her friend's eyes followed her inelastic, slow movements. Could this be Linda Barry!
She returned wearing a white sweater and Mrs. Porter pinned a white corduroy hat on the dark head and flung a polo coat over her own arm. She also took a cushion from the hammock as they passed.
"We won't sit on the piazza this morning," she said. "I have a surprise for you."
Leading the way around the corner of the house, the two walked away from the blue breakers, across a wide, grassy field.