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, I
am 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.
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