Why was it that in the moments before they dressed for dinner Alaric was whispering with Gertrude, and not with her?
Why was it that Alaric had felt it necessary to stay from church that Sunday evening when Gertrude also had been prevented from going by a headache?
He had remained, he said, in order that Captain Cuttwater might have company; but Linda was not slow to learn that Uncle Bat had been left to doze away the time by himself.
Why, on the following Monday, had Gertrude been down so early, and why had Alaric been over from the inn full half an hour before his usual time?
Linda saw and knew all this, and was disgusted.

But even then she did not, could not think that Alaric could be untrue to her; that her own sister would rob her of her lover.

It could not be that there should be such baseness in human nature! Poor Linda! And yet, though she did not believe that such falseness could exist in this world of hers at Surbiton Cottage, she could not restrain herself from complaining rather petulantly to her sister, as they were going to bed on that Sunday evening.
'I hope your headache is better,' she said, in a tone of voice as near to irony as her soft nature could produce.
'Yes, it is quite well now,' said Gertrude, disdaining to notice the irony.
'I dare say Alaric had a headache too.

I suppose one was about as bad as the other.' 'Linda,' said Gertrude, answering rather with dignity than with anger, 'you ought to know by this time that it is not likely that I should plead false excuses.

Alaric never said he had a headache.' 'He said he stayed from church to be with Uncle Bat; but when we came back we found him with you.' 'Uncle Bat went to sleep, and then he came into the drawing-room.' The two girls said nothing more about it.