Lynda took Nella-Rose to the station, saw to her every comfort, put a sum of money in her hand with the words: 

“You must take it, Nella-Rose—­to prove your trust in me; and it will buy some—­some things for—­the other babies.  But”—­and here she went close to Nella-Rose, realizing for the first time that the most difficult part, for her, was yet to come—­“how will it be with—­with your man—­when he knows?”

Nella-Rose looked up bravely and something crept into her eyes—­the look of power that only a woman who recognizes her hold on a man ever shows.

“He’ll bear it—­right grateful—­and it’ll wipe away the hate for Jed Martin.  He’ll do the forgiving—­since I’ve given up lil’ Ann; and if he doubts—­there’s Miss Lois Ann.  She’s mighty powerful with men—­when it’s women that matters.”

“It’s very wonderful!” murmured Lynda.  “More wonderful than I can understand.”  And yet as she spoke she knew that she did understand.  Between her and Burke Lawson, a man she was never to know, there was a common tie—­a deep comprehension.

Late that afternoon Lynda drove to Betty’s with little Ann sitting rigidly on the seat beside her.  The child had not spoken since she had seen the train move out of the station bearing her mother away.  She had not cried or murmured.  She had gone afterward, holding Lynda’s hand, through amazing experiences.  She had seen her shabby garments discarded in dazzling shops, and fine apparel replace them.  Once she had caught a glimpse of her small, transformed self in a long mirror and her dark eyes had widened.  That was all.  Lynda had watched her feverishly.  She had hoped that with the change of clothing the startling likeness would lessen, but it did not.  Robed in the trappings of her father’s world, little Ann seemed to become more wholly his.

“Do you like yourself, little Ann?” Lynda had asked when, at last, a charming hat was placed upon the dark curls.

There was no word of reply—­only the wide, helpless stare—­and, to cover her confusion, Lynda hurried away to Betty.

The maid who admitted her said that “Mrs. Kendall was upstairs in the nursery with the baby.”

Lynda paused on the stairs and asked blankly:  “The baby?  What baby?”

The maid was a trusted one and close to Betty.

“The little boy from the Home, Mrs. Truedale,” she replied, “and already the house is cheerfuller.”

Lynda felt a distinct disappointment.  She had hoped that Betty would care for little Ann for a few days, but how could she ask it of her now?

In the sunny room upstairs Betty sat in a low rocker, crooning away to a restless bundle in her arms.

“You, Lyn?” Lynda stood in the doorway; Betty’s back was to her.

“Yes, Betty.”

“Come and see my red-headed boy—­my Bobilink!  He’s going to be Robert Kendall.”

Then Lynda drew near with Ann.  Betty stopped rocking and confronted the two with her far-reaching, strangely penetrating gaze.