"Oh, yes. He's as game as ever."
"Fred,"—Linda clasped her hands tightly together,—"you don't know how cruel—how beastly I've been to Bertram."
"Oh, forget it," Fred's worshiping eyes met the mourning gaze.
"I'd like to; and I could if Bertram would, but he never will, I'm afraid. He hates me."
"He'll get over it."
"Tell me, Fred,—you must have spoken to him about me. What does he say?"
Whitcomb looked off as if consulting his memory. "I can't remember his mentioning your name since Reason resumed her throne. He used to babble about you and your father, too, during his illness; but nothing connected: nothing that I can remember."
"I'm really surprised that he was willing to come where I was staying."
"I don't believe he knew it till we were on the train. I told him about the Lindsays and that I believed it was the right place for him."
"But he must have known this was where Mrs. Porter was, and that she was with Aunt Belinda. He must have known I was with them."