did you want with me, Madge?"

Her eyelashes flickered as she surveyed him. "I wanted to see
you--smile, Georgie."

"You didn't bring me down here to tell me that----" But in spite of
himself the corners of his lips curled. "Oh, what's the answer, Madge?"
he said, and laughed in spite of himself.

"I wanted to talk a little about--your Becky."

His laughter died at once. "Well, I'm not going to talk about her."

"Please--I am dying of curiosity--I hear that she is very--rich,
Georgie."

"Rich?"

"Yes. She has oodles of money----"

"I don't believe it."

"But it is true, Georgie."

"Who told you?"

"Mrs. Flippin."

"It is all--rot----"

"It isn't rot, Georgie. Mrs. Flippin knows about it. Becky inherits from
her Meredith grandmother. And her grandfather is Admiral Meredith of
Nantucket, with a big house on Beacon Street in Boston. And they all
belong to the inner circle."

He stared at her. "But Becky doesn't look it. She doesn't wear rings and
things."

"'Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes'? Oh, George, did you think
it had to be like that when people had money? Why, her pearls belonged
to a queen." She told him their history.

It came back to him with a shock that he had said to Becky that the
pearls cheapened her. "If they were _real_," he had said.

"It was rather strange the way I found it out," Madge was saying. "Mary
Flippin had on the most perfect gown--with all the marks on it of
exclusive Fifth Avenue. She was going to the Merriweather ball, and
Becky is to be there."

She saw him gather himself together. "It is rather a Cinderella story,
isn't it?" he asked, with assumed lightness.

"Yes," she said, "but I thought you'd like to know."

"What if I knew already?"

She laughed and let it go at that. "I'm lonesome, Georgie, talk to me,"
she said. But he was not in a mood to talk. And at last she sent him
away. And when he had gone she sat there a long time and thought about
him. There had been a look in his eyes which made her almost sorry. It
seemed incredible as she came to think of it that anybody should ever be
sorry for Georgie.

II

Since that night with Becky in the garden at Huntersfield George had
been torn by conflicting emotions. He knew himself at last in love. He
knew himself beaten at the game by a little shabby girl, and a lanky
youth who had been her champion.

He would not acknowledge that the thing was ended, and in the end he had
written her a letter.