Filled with this vision she had fled to Betty’s, only to find that Betty had fled on her own account!
There was no moment of indecision; welcome or not, Lynda had to reach Betty—and at once!
She had tarried, after setting her face to the river. She even stopped at a quiet little tea room and ate a light meal. Then she waited until the throng of business men had crossed the ferry to their homes. It was quite dark when she reached the wooded spot where, hidden deep among the trees, was Betty’s retreat.
There was a light in the house—the living room faced the path—and through the uncurtained window Lynda saw Betty sitting before the fire with her little dog upon her lap.
“Oh, Betty,” she whispered, stretching her arms out to the lonely little figure in the low, deep chair. “Betty! Betty!” She waited a moment, then she tapped lightly upon the glass. The dog sprang to the floor, its sharp ears twitching, but he did not bark. Betty came to the door and stood in the warm, lighted space with arms extended. She knew no fear, there was only doubt upon her face.
“Lyn, is it you?”
“Yes! How did you guess?”
“All day I’ve been thinking about you—wanting you. Sometimes I can bring people that way.”
“And I have wanted you! Betty, may I stay—to-night?”
“Why, yes, dear. Stay until you want to go home. I’ve been pulling myself together; I’m almost ready to go back to Brace. Come in! Why—what is it, dear? Come, let me take off your things! There! Now lie back in the chair and tell Betty all about it.”