"It's all right!" Truedale said heavily. "Go on when you can, Lynda."
"Do you--remember your father, Con?"
"Yes."
"Well, your uncle feared that too much ease and money might--"
"I--I begin to understand."
"So he went to the other extreme. Every step of your well-fought way was
joy to him--the only joy he knew. From his detachment and loneliness he
planned--almost plotted--for you, but he did not tell you. It would all
have been so different--oh! so different if we had all known. Then he
told me a little--about his will."
No one saw the sudden crimson that dyed Lynda's white face and throat.
"He was very fantastic about that. He made certain arrangements that
were to take effect at once. He has left you three thousand a year, Con,
without any restrictions whatever. He told me that. He left his servants
and employees generous annuities. He left me this house--for my mother's
sake. He insisted that it should be a home at last. A large sum is
provided for its furnishing and upkeep--I'm a trustee! The most
beautiful thing, perhaps, was the thought expressed in these words of
his, 'I want you to do your mother's work and mine, while still
following your own rightful desires. Make this house a place of welcome,
peace, and friendliness!' I mean to do my best, Con."
"And he's left me"--Brace found relief in the one touch of humour that
presented itself--"he's left me a thousand dollars as a token of his
appreciation of my loyalty to you, when you most needed it.
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