oked at her in a dazed fashion.

"I don't understand," he said slowly. "If that isn't the dress I saw
Eileen send up for herself, I'm badly mistaken. It was the Saturday we
went to Riverside. It surely is the very dress."

Linda laughed bleakly.

"That may be," she said. "The one time she ever has any respect for me
is in a question of taste. She will agree that I know when colors are
right and a thing is artistic. Now then, John, you are the administrator
of my father's estate; you have seen what you have seen. What are you
going to do about it?"

"Linda," he said quietly, "what my heart might prompt me to do in
consideration of the fact that I am engaged to marry Eileen, and what my
legal sense tells me I must do as executor of your father's wishes, are
different propositions. I am going to do exactly what you tell me to.
What you have shown me, and what I'd have realized, if I had stopped to
think, is neither right nor just."

Then Linda took her tun at deep thought.

"John," she said at last, "I am feeling depressed over what I have just
done. I am not sure that in losing my temper and bringing you up here I
have played the game fairly. You don't need to do anything. I'll manage
my affairs with Eileen myself. But I'll tell you before you go, that you
needn't practice any subterfuges. When she reaches the point where she
is ready to come home, I'll tell her that you were here, and what you
have seen. That is the best I can do toward squaring myself with my own
conscience."

Slowly they walked down the hall together. At the head of the stairs
Linda took the cheque that she carried and tore it into bits. Stepping
across the hall, she let the little heap slowly flutter to the rug in
front of Eileen's door. Then she went back to her room and left John
Gilman to his own reflections.

CHAPTER XVII. A Rock and a Flame

The first time Linda entered the kitchen after her interview with
Gilman, Katy asked in deep concern, "Now what ye been doing, lambie?"

"Doing the baby act, Katy," confessed Linda. "Disgracing myself. Losing
my temper. I wish I could bring myself to the place where I would think
half a dozen times before I do a thing once."

"Now look here," said Katy, beginning to bristle, "ain't it the truth
that ye have thought for four years before ye did this thing once?"

"Quite so," said Linda. "But since I am the daughter of the finest
gentleman I ever knew, I should not do hasty, regrettable things