“And it certainly was a great joke on both of us,” said John jovially, “what we thought about that box of cigarettes, you know. They were a prize given by a bridge club at an ‘Ambassador’ benefit for the Good Samaritan Hospital. Eileen, the little card shark she is, won it, and she was keeping it hidden away there to use as a gift for my birthday. Since we disclosed her plans prematurely, she gave it to me at once, and I’m having a great time treating all my friends.”
At that instant Linda experienced a revulsion. Previously she had not been able to raise her eyes. Now it would have been quite impossible to avoid looking straight into Eileen’s face. But Eileen had no intention of meeting anyone’s gaze at that minute. She was fidgeting with a sheet of drawing paper.
“Careful you don’t bend that,” cautioned Linda. Then she looked at John Gilman. He believed what he was saying; he was happy again. Linda evolved the best smile she could.
“How stupid of us not to have guessed!” she said.
Closing the door behind them, Linda leaned against it and looked up through the skylight at the deep blue of the night, the low-hung stars. How long she stood there she did not know. Presently she went to her chair, picked up her pencil, and slowly began to draw. At first she scarcely realized what she was doing, then she became absorbed in her work. Then she reached for her colour box and brushes, and shortly afterward tacked against the wall an extremely clever drawing of a greatly enlarged wasp. Skillfully she had sketched a face that was recognizable round the big insect eyes. She had surmounted the face by a fluff of bejewelled yellow curls, encased the hind legs upon which the creature stood upright in pink velvet Turkish trousers and put tiny gold shoes on the feet. She greatly exaggerated the wings into long trails and made them of green gauze with ruffled edges. All the remainder of the legs she had transformed into so many braceleted arms, each holding a tiny fan, or a necklace, a jewel box, or a handkerchief of lace. She stood before this sketch, studying it for a few minutes, then she walked over to the table and came back with a big black pencil. Steadying her hand with a mahl stick rested against the wall, with one short sharp stroke she drew a needle-pointed stinger, so screened by the delicate wings that it could not be seen unless you scrutinized the picture minutely. After that, with careful, interested hands she brought out Peter Morrison’s drawings and replaced them on the wall to dry.
CHAPTER XX
The Cap Sheaf
Toward the last of the week Linda began to clear the mental decks of her ship of life in order that she might have Saturday free for her promised day with Donald. She had decided that they would devote that day to wave-beaten Laguna. It was a long drive but delightful. It ran over the old King’s Highway between miles of orange and lemon orchards in full flower, bordered by other miles of roses in their prime.
Every minute when her mind was not actively occupied with her lessons or her recipes Linda was dreaming of the King’s Highway. Almost unconsciously she began to chant:
“All in the golden weather, forth let us ride to-day,