Dalton.

"How did you happen to ask us?" Randy was saying.

"Because I wanted you----"

"That doesn't explain it. It has something to do with Dalton----"

"He said he was coming--and I wanted a crowd."

"Were you afraid to see him alone?"

"He says that I am."

"When did he say it?"

"Just now. He's in the garden, Randy."

"Waiting for you?"

"He says that he is waiting."

Randy gave a quick exclamation. "Surely you won't go."

"Why not? I've got to turn--the knife----"

He groaned. "So this is what I've let you in for----"

"Well, I shall see it through, Randy."

"Becky, don't go to him in the garden."

"Why not?"

"The whole thing is wrong," the boy said, slowly. "I lied to give you
your opportunity, and now, I'd rather die than think of you out
there----"

"Then you don't trust me, Randy?"

"My dear, I do. But I don't trust--him."

IV

George had known that she would come. Yet when he saw the white blur of
her gown against the blackness of the bushes, his heart leaped. All
through the ages men have waited for women in gardens--"_She is coming,
my own, my sweet_----" and farther back, "_Make haste, my beloved_," and
in the beginning, as Mandy could have told, a serpent waited.

Dalton was not, of course, a serpent. He was merely a very selfish man,
who had always had what he wanted, and now he wanted Becky. He was
still, perhaps, playing the game, but he was playing it in dead earnest
with Randy as his opponent and Becky the prize.

She recognized a new note in his voice and was faintly disturbed by it.

"So you are not afraid?"

"No."

She sat down on the bench. Behind them was the pale statue of Diana, the
pool was at their feet with its little star.

"Why should I be afraid?" she asked.

"You are trying to shut me out of your heart, Becky--and you are afraid
I may try to--open the door."

"Silly," she said, clearly and lightly, but with a sense of panic. Oh,
why had she come? The darkness seemed to shut her in; his voice was
beating against her heart----

He was saying that he loved her, _loved_ her. Did she understand? That
he had been _miserable_? His defense was masterly. He played on her
imagination delicately, as if she were a harp, and his fingers touched
the strings. He realized what a cad he must have seemed. But she was a
saint in a shrine--it will be seen that he did not hesitate to borrow
from Randy. She was a saint in a shrine, and well, he knelt at her
feet-