"Mrs. Porter is still in Portland?" she asked.
"Why, yes, and didn't you know Miss Barry went too? I've got to get their supper, you see; and the cream come out awful good."
Linda rose. "Yes, I'll go," she said quietly; but there was no quiet within.
All the way across the field, her heart hurried. She had never called at the Benslow house. To go for the first time to see King, without his request, and risk his betraying, perhaps, before the others, that she was unwelcome, was an ordeal which she dreaded, but the desire to see him rose above the confusion of her crowding thoughts, and though her hands trembled on the covered bowl she pushed on.
The lovely late afternoon light struck across the field. Bertram King, wandering down from the piazza, noted the golden sheen upon the grass and the majestic cloud-effects in the vast arch above. His near-sighted eyes beheld a white figure advancing in the golden light.
He hastened his steps in welcome.
"Good for you," he cried. "I was getting very tired of myself. There's been an exodus from here to Portland to-day. I know I'm a big boy now, since Whitcomb was willing to leave me. Even Miss Benslow is out and I'm holding the fort."
All the time that his words were calling through the still air, he was walking toward the visitor. Linda's face from doubt grew radiant. The relieved, happy color rose in her cheeks. Her lovely eyes beamed. In her white gown and with her shining, grateful joy, she was very beautiful as her light springing step brought her near and into King's field of vision. His breath caught in the shock and he stood stock-still.
"I'm glad to see you, too, Bertram," she cried. Her eyes were starry, her smile enchanting.
"Why, Linda! I beg your pardon. I thought you were Maud," he exclaimed.