For a long, bitter moment he thought deeply, and then he said
hoarsely: "Now calm down, Linda. You're making an extremely
high mountain out of an extremely shallow gopher hole. You
haven't done anything irreparable. I see the whole situation.
You are sure your friend has finally refused this offer she has
had on account of these letters you have written?"
Suddenly Linda relaxed. She leaned her warm young body against
Peter. She laid her tired head on his shoulder. She slipped the
top letter of the packet in her lap from under its band, opened
it, and held it before him. Peter read it very deliberately,
then he nodded in acquiescence.
"It's all too evident," he said quietly, "that you have taught
her that there is a man in this world more to her liking than
John Gilman ever has been. When it came to materializing the
man, Linda, what was your idea? Were you proposing to deliver
me?"
"I thought it would be suitable and you would be perfectly
happy," sobbed Linda, "and that way I could have both of you."
"And Donald also?" asked Peter lightly.
"Donald of course," assented Linda.
And then she lifted her tear-spilling, wonderful eyes, wide open,
to Peter's, and demanded: "But, oh Peter, I am so miserable I am
almost dead. I have said you were a rock, and you are a rock.
peter, can you get me out of this?"
"Sure," said Peter grimly. "Merely a case of living up to your
blue china, even if it happens to be in the form of hieroglyphics
instead of baked pottery.
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