"Well, I'm glad she did know," said Linda graciously, "It's good to see you, Fred,—you have a sort of a white, city look, as if a vacation couldn't hurt you."
"Mrs. Lindsay told me you were related to them," said Mrs. Porter. "I suppose you came through her."
"Yes, I did. I wouldn't have known there was any place to stay here except for her; and I did feel a bit seedy, as well as King, so I pulled up stakes—there being a strong magnet in this vicinity." He flashed a still further enlightening smile around at Linda.
But Mrs. Porter had suddenly lost interest in his possible romance. "Mr. King—Bertram," she said, leaning forward. "He has been ill?"
Whitcomb gave a soft significant whistle. "Rather!" he returned briefly.
"I'm his cousin, Mr. Whitcomb. Tell me all about it, please."
"I know you are. He has talked to me of you."
Linda's lips had gained the close line the mention or thought of King always evoked.
"Good old King. He's some fighter. You ought to be proud of him, Mrs. Porter."
"I am. Tell me all you know of him, please. How is he now?"