"This room and his bedchamber, Con," Lynda explained, "are the same.
For the rest? Well, I hope you will like it."
Truedale did like it. He gave an exclamation of delight when later they
entered the dining room, which had never been furnished in the past;
like much of the house it had been a sad tribute to the emptiness and
disappointment that had overcome William Truedale's life. Now it shone
with beauty and cheer.
"It is not merely a place in which to eat," explained Lynda; "a dining
room should be the heart of the home, as the library is the soul."
"Think of living up to that!"--Brace gave a laugh--"and not having it
interfere with your appetite!" They were all trying to keep cheerful
until such time as they dared recall the recent past without restraint.
Such an hour came when they gathered once more in the library. Brace
seized his pipe in the anticipation of play upon his emotions. By tacit
consent the low chair was left vacant and by a touch of imagination it
almost seemed as if the absent master were waiting to be justified.
"And now," Truedale said, huskily, "tell me all, Lynda."
"He and I were sitting here just as we all are sitting now, that last
night. He had forgiven me for--for staying away" (Lynda's voice shook),
"and we were very happy and confidential. I told him some things--quite
intimate things, and he, well, he came out of his reserve and gruffness,
Con--he let me see the real man he was! I suppose while he had been
alone--for I had neglected him--he had had time to think, to regret his
mistakes; he was very just--even with himself.
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