little car through the evening until she felt
that it was time to go home, and when at last she stopped where they had
started, she realized that neither she nor Peter had spoken one word. As
he stepped from the car she leaned toward him and reached out her hand.

"Thank you for the fireplace, Peter," she said.

Peter took the hand she extended and held it one minute in both his own.
Then very gently he straightened it out in the palm of one of his hands
and with the other hand turned back the fingers and laid his lips to the
heart of it.

"Thank you, Linda, for the flame," he said, and turning abruptly, he
went toward his workroom.

Stopping for a bite to eat in the kitchen, Linda went back to her room.
She sat down at the table and picking up her pencil, began to work, and
found that she could work. Every stroke came true and strong. Every idea
seemed original and unusual. Quite as late as a light ever had shone in
her window, it shone that night, the last thing she did being to
write another anonymous letter to Marian, and when she reread it Linda
realized that it was an appealing letter. She thought it certainly would
comfort Marian and surely would make her feel that someone worth while
was interested in her and in her work. She loved some of the whimsical
little touches she had put into it, and she wondered if she had made
it so much like Peter Morrison that it would be suggestive of him
to Marian. She knew that she had no right to do that and had no such
intention. She merely wanted a model to copy from and Peter seemed the
most appealing model at hand.

After school the next day Linda reported that she had finished going
through the books and was ready to have them taken. Then, after a few
minutes of deep thought, she made her way to the Consolidated Bank. At
the window of the paying teller she explained that she wished to see
the person connected with the bank who had charge of the safety-deposit
boxes and who looked after the accounts pertaining to the estate of
Alexander Strong. The teller recognized the name. He immediately became
deferential.

"I'll take you to the office of the president," he said. "He and Doctor
Strong were very warm friends. You can explain to him what it is you
want to know."

Before she realized what was happening, Linda found herself in an office
that was all mahogany and marble. At a huge desk stacked with papers sat
a man, considerably older than her father. Linda remembered