"I—marry David?" In Linda's air, however, was pain, not discomfiture. The shadow in her eyes darkened perceptibly. "You don't understand, Bab; David and I were brought up together. We've been playmates since I was a baby. If he were my own kin, my own brother, I could not love him more. But that doesn't mean I could marry him. I don't love him that way."
The words, each freighted with significance, thundered their accusation in Bab's startled mind. Linda did not love him that way! Bab, as she sat staring at the speaker, recalled her own reflections in the matter. She, too, had loved David as if bound to him by some tie of blood. She, too, had felt for him that same companionship. Beyond that, though, how else had she felt for him? How else had she loved the man she was to marry? She was still staring at her visitor, the question in her mind still unanswered, when Linda suddenly spoke.
"Why are you marrying him, Bab? Don't you know?"
Bab found her tongue then.
"Because I—I——" She did not finish the sentence, but began another instead. "Why shouldn't I marry him?" she demanded, her voice strong with indignation. "Why shouldn't I marry David? I know he loves me; isn't that enough? I know he isn't marrying me for my money; he's marrying me for myself. That's why I'm marrying David."
Linda still was steadily eyeing her.
"And is that really the reason?"
"It's one reason," returned Bab.