He looked long at her. Bravely he strove to forget the blood tie that held them. He regarded her from the viewpoint that another man might have. Then he said:
“Yes. As God hears me, Lyn—yes!”
She dropped her head upon his shoulder and wept as if grief instead of joy were sweeping over her. Presently she raised her tear-wet face and said:
“I’m going to marry Con, dear, as soon as he wants me. I hate to say this, Brace, but it is a little as if Conning had come home to me from an honourable war—a bit mutilated. I must try to get used to him and I will! I will!”
Kendall held her to him close. “Lyn, I never knew until this moment how much I have to humbly thank God for. Oh! if men only could see ahead, young fellows I mean, they would not come to a woman—mutilated. I haven’t much to offer, heaven knows, but—well, Lyn, I can offer a clear record to some woman—some day!”
All that day Lynda thought of the future. Sitting in her workshop with the toy-like emblems of her craft at hand she thought and thought. It seemed to her, struggling alone, that men and women, after all, walked through life—largely apart. They had built bridges with love and necessity and over them they crossed to touch each other for a space, but oh! how she longed for a common highway where she and Con could walk always together! She wanted this so much, so much!
At five o’clock she telephoned to Truedale. She knew he generally went to his apartment at that hour.
“I—I want to see you, Con,” she said.
“Yes, Lyn. Where?”
She felt the answer meant much, so she paused.