, Paine--you and a good car--and we'd go over the hills and far
away----

"I haven't told you much of my life. And there's not a great deal to
tell. Fifteen years ago I married a little girl and thought I loved her.
But what I really loved was the thought of doing things for her. I had
money and she was poor. It was pleasant to see her eyes shine when I
gave her things---- But money hasn't anything to do with love, Paine,
and that is where we American men fall down. When we love a woman we
begin to tell her of our possessions and to tempt her by them. And the
thing that we should do is to show her ourselves. We should say, 'If I
were stripped of all my worldly goods what would there be in me for you
to like?' My little wife and I had not one thing in common. And one day
she left me. She found a man who gave her love for love. I had given her
cars and flowers and boxes of candy and diamonds and furs. But she
wanted more than that. She died--two years ago. I think she had been
happy in those last years. I never really loved her, but she taught me
what love is--and it is not a question of barter and sale----"

He seemed to be thinking aloud. Randy spoke after a silence. "But a man
must have something to offer a woman."

"He must have himself. Oh, we are all crooked in our values, Paine. The
best that a man can give a woman is his courage, his hope, his
aspiration. That's enough. I learned it too late. I don't know why I am
saying all this to you, Paine."

But Randy knew. It was on such nights that men showed their souls to
each other. It was on such nights that his comrades had talked to him in
France. Under the moon they had seemed self-conscious. But beneath a sky
of stars, the words had come to them.

As he sat at his desk later, he thought of all that the Major had said
to him: that possessions had nothing to do with love; that the test must
be, "What would there be in me to like if I were stripped of all my
worldly goods?"

Well, he had nothing. There were only his hopes, his dreams, his
aspiration--himself.

Would these weigh with any woman in the balance against George Dalton's
splendid trappings?

The dawn crept in and found him still sitting at his desk. He had not
written a dozen lines. But his thoughts had been the long, long thoughts
of youth.

CHAPTER VI

GEORGIE-PORGIE

I

It would never have happened if Aunt Claudia had been there. Aunt
Claudia would have built hedges about Becky. Sh