"He's better, or you couldn't laugh," said Linda.
"Yes, he is. That nice Whitcomb is a regular steam engine. He has a tent with all the outdoor sleeping paraphernalia and they don't expect to spend many nights indoors. Of course, it's just the right season for the experiment."
"Does Bertram—does he look very—very ill?"
"Oh, rather frail, of course; but he looks very good to me with his nice gray eyes so care-free."
"He has the most lovely teeth I ever saw," said Linda with a gulp.
"Yes; they're just as nice as ever."
"I wish you were in a serious mood, Mrs. Porter."
"How can I be when I'm so relieved and grateful?"
"Can't you be a little sorry for me, who am absolutely miserable?" Linda's words were interspersed with catches in the throat, but she was determined to weep no more.
"No one should be that. Cheer up, girlie. That nice Whitcomb—"