d false. You are strong enough to stand alone. I want
you to stand alone, Becky, for your own sake. I want you to tell
yourself that Dalton isn't worth one single thought of yours. Tell
yourself the truth, Becky, about him. It is the only way to own
your soul.

"You may be interested to know that the Watermans left Hamilton
Hill yesterday. Dalton went with them. I haven't seen him since the
night of the Merriweathers' ball. I didn't tell you, did I, that
after I took the fan away from him, I dropped him into the
fountain? I had much rather have tied him to a stake, and have
built a fire under him, but that isn't civilized, and of course, I
couldn't. But I am glad I dropped him in the fountain----"

Becky read Randy's letter as she sat alone on the beach. It was cool and
sunshiny and she was wrapped in a red cape. The winter gulls were
beating strong wings above the breakers, and their sharp cries cut
across the roar of the waters.

There had been a storm the night before--wind booming out of the
northeast and the sea still sang the song of it.

Becky felt, suddenly, that she was very angry with Randy. It was as if
he had broken a lovely thing that she had worshipped. She hated to think
of that struggle in the dark---- She hated to think of Randy as--the
Conqueror. She hated to think of George as dank and dripping. She wanted
to think of him as shining and splendid, and Randy had spoiled that.

But she wanted to be fair. Hadn't George, after all, spoiled his own
splendidness? He had wooed her and had run away. And he had not run back
until he thought another man wanted her.

"Of course," said somebody behind her, "you won't tell me what you are
thinking about. But if you will just let me sit here and think, by your
side, it will be a great privilege."

It was Mr. Cope, and she was not sure that she wanted him at this
moment. Perhaps something of her thought showed in her eyes, for when
she said, "Oh, yes," he stood looking down at her.

"Would you rather be alone with your letters? Don't hedge and be polite.
Tell me."

"Well," she admitted, "my letters are a bit on my mind. But if you don't
care if I am stupid, you can stay----"

He sat down. He had known her for ten days, and dreaded to think that in
ten days more she might be gone. "I won't talk if you don't wish it."

Becky's eyes were on the sea. "I think I should like to talk. I have
been thinking--