"No," came the quick answer; "but he is so conceited and so opinionated—"
"If you believe him innocent of wrong intention, should you become his enemy—"
Linda's pale cheeks flushed and she straightened up.
"When a person strikes you a murderous blow, Mrs. Porter, can you, before recovering breath, care much whether it was accidental or intentional?"
"No! but after recovering breath, you can. What do you believe your father would say to your treatment of Bertram?"
Linda glanced around at her companion quickly. "Aunt Belinda has been talking to you," she said.
"She wrote me something of it before she came home. This letter that I have just read tells me most, however. You were very dear to Bertram, Linda. This double and treble sorrow of his appalls me." Linda saw her companion's eyes fill. "You are right," added Mrs. Porter, not very steadily, "we would better not talk about it at present. Better thoughts will come now that, as you say, the clouds have cleared sufficiently for you to think."
They both leaned back against the rock for a silent minute and Linda saw her friend press her handkerchief to those brimming eyes. Tears and Mrs. Porter! Impossible connection of thought.
"I would like you to tell me one thing, Mrs. Porter," she said. "Are you pitying Bertram, or me?"
The older woman turned to her with a sudden flashing smile.