The stranger drew herself up haughtily.
“I confess I did not bring legal proofs,” she said. “I thought that after sacrificing the best years of my life to bringing up Helen, that she would know me, and want to come to me. But it seems that I cannot expect love or gratitude.”
“Well, you can’t expect us to turn her over to a person she dislikes, unless that person has a right to her,” returned Linda.
“Very well,” concluded the other. “I’ll go. But I’ll be back with the proofs. And you are going to be sorry for your insolence, Miss Linda Carlton!”
With this final remark, she turned and left the house.
“Whew!” exclaimed Mike, wiping his forehead. “She’s a hot one. But I think there’s something fishy about her, besides her name. I don’t believe she’s your aunt at all, Helen.”
“Don’t call me that!” pleaded the girl. “That name means nothing to me, and I am used to being called ‘Amy’ now.”
“All right, dear,” agreed Linda. “Now don’t think any more about it. You’ll be my adopted sister, for as long as you like—” She turned to the boy, “Mike, you are a bright man—I certainly am thankful we had you here!”
The young man blushed vividly over his freckles, and suggested that they go on with their swim as they had planned.
Drying her eyes, Amy ran off to get into her suit, but Linda remained some minutes where she was, thinking. It was queer—terribly queer. The woman was so unlike Amy, so different a type, so common—so really vulgar. Yet Amy was one of the sweetest, most refined little girls Linda had ever met; she might almost have been brought up by her own Aunt Emily, from the training she showed. Yet if the woman weren’t a relation what could she possibly want with Amy? The child was obviously poor; what could be the reason, unless it were love?