be cleared up."

Linda's heart gave a great jump of consternation.

"Indeed no," she said emphatically. "I don't think he has just told
Marian yet, but I am very sure that he cares for her more than for any
other woman, and I am equally sure she cares for him; and nothing could
be more suitable."

"All right then," agreed Mr. Snow.

Linda put the Bear Cat at the mountain, crept around the road, skirted
the boulders, and stopped halfway to the garage. And there, in a low
tone, she indicated to Mr. Snow where they had lunched, when she found
the plans, how she had brought out the coat, where she had emptied the
mouse nest. Then she stepped from the car and hallooed for Peter. Peter
came hurrying from the garage, and Eugene Snow was swift in his mental
inventory. It coincided exactly with Linda's. He would have been willing
to join hands with Peter and start around the world, quite convinced
of the fairness of the outcome, with no greater acquaintance than one
intent look at Peter, one grip of his sure hand. After that he began to
act on Katy's hint, and in a very short time he had convinced himself
that she was right. Maybe Peter tried to absorb himself in the plans he
was going over, in the house he was proud to show the great architect;
but it seemed to the man he was entertaining that his glance scarcely
left Linda, that he was so preoccupied with where she went and what she
did that he was like a juggler keeping two mental balls in the air at
the same time.

It seemed to Peter a natural thing that, the architect being in the city
on business, he should run out to call on Miss Thorne's dearest friend
It seemed to him equally natural that Linda should bring him to see
a house in which she was so kindly interesting herself. And just when
Peter was most dexterous in his juggling, just when he was trying to
explain the very wonderful step-saving' time-saving, rational kitchen
arrangements and at the same time watch Linda on her course down to the
spring, the architect halted him with a jerk. Eugene Snow stood very
straight, his hands in his coat pockets, looking, Peter supposed, with
interest at the arrangements of kitchen conveniences. His next terse
sentence fairly staggered Peter. He looked him straight in the eye
and inquired casually: "Chosen your dream woman to fit your house,
Morrison?"

Peter was too surprised to conceal his feelings. His jaws snapped
together; a belligerent look sprang into his eyes.

"I