“But why the hurry, Con?” she naturally questioned; “if people are going to be so spasmodic I’ll have to get a partner. It may be all right, looked at financially, but it’s the ruination of art.”
“But this is a special case, Lyn.”
“They’re all special cases.”
“But this is a—welcome.”
“For whom?”
“Well, for me! You see I’ve never had a real home, Lyn. It’s one of the luxuries I’ve always dreamed of.”
“I had thought,” Lynda’s clear eyes clouded, “that your uncle’s house would be your home at last. It is big enough for us all—we need not run against each other.”
“Keep my room under the roof, Lyn.” Truedale looked at her yearningly and she—misunderstood! “I shall often come to that—to you and Brace—but humour me in this fancy of mine.”
So she humoured him—working early and late—putting more of her own heart in it than he was ever to know, for she believed—poor girl—that he would offer it to her some day and then—when he found out about the money—how exactly like a fairy tale it all would be! And Lynda had had so few fairy tales in her life.
And while she designed and Conning watched and suggested, they talked of his long-neglected work.