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At the Bay day. I made up my mind to dash out and telegraph, and then I thought the wire mightn’t reach you before I did. I’ve been in tortures, Linda.”

“But, Stanley,” said Linda, “what must I forgive you for?”

“Linda!”—Stanley was very hurt—“didn’t you realize—you must have realized—I went away without saying good-bye to you this morning? I can’t imagine how I can have done such a thing. My confounded temper, of course. But—well”—and he sighed and took her in his arms again—“I’ve suffered for it enough to-day.”

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” asked Linda. “New gloves? Let me see.”

“Oh, just a cheap pair of wash-leather ones,” said Stanley humbly. “I noticed Bell was wearing some in the coach this morning, so, as I was passing the shop, I dashed in and got myself a pair. What are you smiling at? You don’t think it was wrong of me, do you?”

“On the con-trary, darling,” said Linda, “I think it was most sensible.”

She pulled one of the large, pale gloves on her own fingers and looked at her hand, turning it this way and that. She was still smiling.

Stanley wanted to say, “I was thinking of you the whole time I bought them.” It was true, but for some reason he couldn’t say it. “Let’s go in,” said he. 60