Linda thanked him and hurried out to the waiting taxi. It was growing late, long after ten o'clock, and she was anxious to be in bed.
Jackson Carter himself came to the door when she rang the bell.
"Where is your mother?" she asked, immediately, for there was no sign of a hostess inside.
"She is ill," replied the young man. "The bad news about the bank—a great deal of our money was lost—knocked her terribly. She hasn't told grandmother, or it might kill her. So I had the maid get the guest room ready, and hope that you will excuse them both."
Linda nodded; she had no way of knowing that Mrs. Carter had protested about entertaining this girl whom Jackson had "picked up" on his canoe trip, and had stubbornly refused to see her. The woman had worked herself into such a state of nerves over her losses and over this incident that she had actually made herself ill.
"I'm so sorry," said Linda, sympathetically. "If I weren't so tired, I'd go to a hotel, for this is no time for your mother to be bothered with a guest. But I'll just stay tonight, and leave early tomorrow. I'm flying to the swamp again with the police officers."
"Ann!" cried Jackson aghast, using her name unconsciously. "Don't, please! It's dangerous—you may be killed.... And, and, besides——"
"Besides, what?"
"Besides, it isn't done. You shouldn't go off to lonely places like that, without an older woman along."
Linda smiled.