“Oh, she laughed. She has such a pretty laugh. Good-night, brother.”
And then Lynda went upstairs to her quiet, dim room. It was a warmish night, with a moon that shone through the open space in the rear. The lot had not been built upon and the white path that had seemed to lure old William Truedale away from life now stretched before Lynda Kendall, leading into life. Whatever doubts and fears she had known were put away. In her soft thin dress, standing by the open window, she was the gladdest creature one could wish to see. And so Truedale found her. He knew that only one reason had caused Lynda to meet him as she was now doing. It was—surrender! Across the moon-lighted room he went to her with opened arms, and when she came to meet him and lifted her face he kissed her reverently.
“I wonder if you have thought?” he whispered.
“I have done nothing else in the ages since I last saw you, Con.”
“And you are not—afraid? You, who should have the best the world has to offer?”
“I am not afraid; and I—have the best—the very best.”
Again Truedale kissed her.
“And when—may I come home—to stay?” he asked presently, knowing full well that the old home must be theirs.
Lynda looked up and smiled radiantly. “I had hoped,” she said, “that I might have the honour of declining the little apartment. I’m so glad, Con, dear, that you want to come home to stay and will not have to be—forced here!” And at that moment Lynda had no thought of the money. Bigger, deeper things held her.
“And—our wedding day, Lyn? Surely it may be soon.”