But she came upon a surprise. Her father was standing beside the table, nervously fingering a magazine. Linda knew in a glance that something was wrong; he smiled at her in a queer manner as he kissed her, and Miss Carlton's expression was like a person's at a funeral. What were they both trying to hide?
She looked questioningly at her aunt.
"We can't keep anything from you, can we, Linda?" remarked the latter.
"Please tell me what is wrong, Aunt Emily!"
"Nothing so dreadful. Only—business. I'll let your father tell you while I go to look after the dinner.... You're all right, dear? No accidents?"
"Just fine!" replied Linda, her eyes still sparkling from the fun of flying in that cold, clear weather.
Miss Carlton left the room, and her brother began almost immediately, without even sitting down.
"I guess I never should have tried going into a new business at my age," he remarked, almost bitterly. "It looked like a good thing, though—a novel thing. But conditions arose that I could never have foreseen. I'm—I'm going to be bankrupt, Linda, I'm afraid—unless something happens in the next month."
"Bankrupt!" repeated his daughter, in amazement. "But Daddy, why?"
"I'm afraid you wouldn't understand, dear—or rather, it's no use burdening you with unnecessary worries. Your Aunt Emily is willing for me to sell this house, to raise some money. I'm only too thankful that you won't have to give up your school—that that's all paid for, and I put the money aside for you."