She lay on her bed, her head buried in her pillow, fighting for control of herself. The unopened invitations lay in a tumbled pile beside her.
But it suddenly dawned upon her that her aunt might come in at any moment. She mustn't let her guess anything!
Then, like a refuge in a storm, she again thought of Louise. She would go to her right away. With her chum there would be no need of acting. And though Louise would be almost as disappointed as Linda was herself, yet the sympathy would help.
So she hurried and changed from her flying suit into a street dress, and hiding her invitations under her pillow so that her aunt wouldn't wonder at her lack of interest, she skipped lightly down the stairs, and, calling good-by to her aunt, ran out to the garage for her little car.
She found her chum lying luxuriously on her bed, sipping tea and reading her mail. Impulsively Linda threw her arms about her, and started to cry. It was such a relief to weep!
"Darling!" cried Louise, in genuine alarm. "What is the matter? Is your father sick—or hurt?"
"No, no," sobbed Linda. "Oh, Lou—it's good to cry!"
"Good to cry!" repeated the other girl in utter amazement. Less than an hour ago she had left her in the best of spirits. Besides, it was a rare thing to see Linda in tears.
"Yes. I can't cry at home. Listen...."
And she told the story of her father's failure.