"Make it snappy!" he said tersely. "The sooner your troubles are out of your system the better you'll feel. Whose letters are those, and why are you crying over them?""Oh, Peter," quavered Linda, "you know how I love Marian. You have seen her and I have told you over and over.""Yes," said Peter soothingly, "I know.""I have told you how, after years of devotion to Marian, John Gilman let Eileen make a perfect rag of him and tie him into any kind of knot she chose. Peter, when Marian left here she had lost everything on earth but a little dab of money. She had lost a father who was fine enough to be my father's best friend. She had lost a mother who was fine enough to rear Marian to what she is. She had lost them in a horrible way that left her room for a million fancies and regrets: 'if I had done this,' or 'if I had done that,' or 'if I had taken another road.' And when she went away she knew definitely she had lost the first and only love of her heart; and I knew, because she was so sensitive and so fine, I knew, better than anybody living, how she COULD be hurt; and Ithought if I could fix some scheme that would entertain her and take her mind off herself and make her feel appreciated only for a little while--I knew in all reason, Peter, when she got out in the world where men would see her and see how beautiful and fine she is, there would be somebody who would want her quickly. All the time I have thought that when she came back, YOU would want her. Peter, I fibbed when I said I was setting your brook for Louise Whiting. I was not. I don't know Louise Whiting. She is nothing to me. I was setting it for you and Marian. It was a WHITE head I saw among the iris marching down your creek bank, not a gold one, Peter."Peter licked his dry lips and found it impossible to look at Linda.
"Straight ahead with it," he said gravely. "What did you do?""Oh, I have done the awfullest thing," wailed Linda, "the most unforgivable thing!"She reached across and laid hold of the hand next her, and realizing that she needed it for strength and support, Peter gave it into her keeping.
"Yes?" he questioned. "Get on with it, Linda. What was it you did?""I had a typewriter: I could. I began writing her letters, the kind of letters that I thought would interest her and make her feel loved and appreciated.""You didn't sign my name to them, did you, Linda?" asked Peter in a dry, breathless voice.
"No, Peter," said Linda, "I did not do that, I did worse. Oh, Idid a whole lot worse!""I don't understand," said Peter hoarsely.
"I wanted to make them fine. I wanted to make them brilliant.
I wanted to make them interesting. And of course I could not do it by myself. I am nothing but a copycat. I just quoted a lot of things I had heard you say; and I did worse than that, Peter.
I watched the little whimsy lines around your mouth and I tried to interpret the perfectly lovely things they would make you say to a woman if you loved her and were building a dream house for her. And oh, Peter, it's too ghastly; I don't believe I can tell you.""This is pretty serious business, Linda," said Peter gravely.
"Having gone this far you are in honor bound to finish. It would not be fair to leave me with half a truth. What is the result of this impersonation?""Oh, Peter," sobbed Linda, breaking down again, "you're going to hate me; I know you're going to hate me and Marian's going to hate me; and I didn't mean a thing but the kindest thing in all the world.""Don't talk like that, Linda," said Peter. "If your friend is all you say she is, she is bound to understand. And as for me, Iam not very likely to misjudge you. But be quick about it. What did you do, Linda?""Why, I just wrote these letters that I am telling you about,"said Linda, "and I said the things that I thought would comfort her and entertain her and help with her work; and these are the answers that she wrote me, and I don't think I realized till last night that she was truly attributing them to any one man, truly believing in them. Oh, Peter, I wasn't asleep a minute all last night, and for the first time I failed in my lessons today.""And what is the culmination, Linda?" urged Peter.
"She liked the letters, Peter. They meant all I intended them to and they must have meant something I never could have imagined.
