Linda Condon

g one of the latter at a zoological garden. It had yellow eyes, but no one would care to ride on it. Her mother, she was certain, knew more about love than any man. His words faded

ther such unfavorable criticism. Everything had been put away before going down, and there was nothing for her to do. The time dragged tediously. The hands of the traveling-clock in purple leath

g at all. That is, there was no reason for it. The room was brightly lighted and, anyhow, she wasn't afraid of "things." She thought that at any minute she must cry like that baby. After a little she felt better; rather the unh

a glow like that which filled her at the expression of her adoration for her mother, but infinitely greater. She was seated

r are you doing up? A bad little girl. I

lemnly. "I only just heard it from Mrs. Randall and Miss Skillern." He

rom one shoulder. Her hat was crooked and her hair disarranged. "So that's it," she said bitt

t sort of came out. I knew you'd stop as s

declared, "is what I g

u.' I told him that only to-night. And, 'No, I must consider my little Linda.' If I had held up my fi

fforts. No, they all try to crowd her and see her slip. If they don't watch out

r's marriage all the while. But she had nobly tried to save him from something;

with the antique frumps, the disappointed old tabbies. Have your fun. There's nothing else. If you like a man, be on the level with him-give and take. Men are not saints and

s she was falling asleep, a sound disturbed her from the corridor above-the slow tramping of heavy feet, like a number of men carefully bearing an awkward object. She listened with suspended breath while they passed. The footfalls seemed to pound on her heart. Slowly, slowly they went, unnatural and measured. They were gon