Linda sighed. "If she could have gone West with Father and me, it would have been perfect."
"I'm said to resemble Maud very strongly," suggested King.
Linda regarded him with quick appraisement. "I never thought of it." She turned back to the window. "I can quote poetry, too, when I think of her. The other day I found a verse that fits her:—
'He that of such a height hath built his mind,
And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so strong,
As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame
Of his resolvéd powers; nor all the wind
Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong
His settled peace, or to disturb the same:
What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may
The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey.'
A man named Daniel wrote that. Isn't it perfect?"
"H'm," agreed King. "A Daniel come to judgment. Maud likes you very much," he added.
"She loves me, thank you," flashed Linda, against his tepid speech.
"Then it runs in the family. I've told her how I felt toward you myself."
"And told her all my faults, I suppose." The girl bit her lip.
"Oh, I knew she could see those. Maud is very penetrating." Fire and dew flashed at him again. "Linda," he added in a different tone, "Whitcomb can't be much longer. Do you know I'm asking you to marry me?"