“No, no! Betty, I want to sit so—at your feet. I want to learn all that you can teach me. You have never had your eyes blinded—or you would know how the light hurts.”
“Well, then. Put your blessed, tired head on my knee. You’re my little girl to-night, Lyn, and I am your—mother.”
For a moment Lynda cried as a child might who had reached safety at last. Betty did not check or soothe the heavy sobs—she waited. She knew Lynda was saved from whatever had troubled her. It was only the telling of it now. And presently the dark head was lifted.
“Betty, it is Con and I!”
“Yes, dear.”
“I’ve loved him all my life; and I believe—I know—he loved me! Women do not make mistakes about the real thing.”
“Never, Lyn, never.”
“Betty, once when I thought Con had wronged me, I wanted to come to you—I almost did—but I couldn’t then! Now that I am sure I have wronged him, it is easy to come to you—you are so understanding!” The radiance of Lynda’s face rather startled Betty. Abandon, relief, glorified it until it seemed a new—a far more beautiful face.
“All my life, Betty, I’ve been controlling myself—conquering myself. I got started that way and—and I’ve kept on. I’ve never done anything without considering and weighing; but now I’m going to fling myself into love and life and—pay whatever there is to pay.”
“Why, Lyn, dear, please go slower.” Betty pressed her face to the head at her knee.