have one of those big houses on
the bluff."

"Would you?"

"Yes."

"But he has so many big houses. And this is his play-house. It belonged
to his grandfather, and that ship up there is one on which our Sally was
the figure-head."

He forced himself to listen while she told him something of the history
of the old ship. He knew that she was making conversation, that there
were things more important to speak of, and that she knew it. Yet she
was putting off the moment when they must speak.

There came a pause, however. "And now," he said, leaning forward, "let's
talk about ourselves, I have been here five days, Becky--waiting----"

"Waiting? For what?"

"To ask you to--forgive me."

Her steady glance met his. "If I say that I forgive you, will that
be--enough?"

"You know it will not," his sparkling eyes challenged her. "Not if you
say it coldly----"

"How else can I say it?"

"As if--oh, Becky, don't keep me at long distance--like this. Don't tell
me that you are engaged to Randy Paine. Don't----. Let this be our
day----" He seemed to shine and sparkle in a perfect blaze of gallantry.

"I am not engaged to Randy."

He gave an exclamation of triumph. "You broke it off?"

"No," she said, "he broke it."

"What?"

She folded her hands in her lap. "You see," she said, "he felt that I
did not love him. And he would not take me that way--unloving."

"He seemed to want to take you any way, the day he talked to me. I asked
him what he had to offer you----" He gave a light laugh--seemed to brush
Randy away with a gesture.

Her cheeks flamed. "He has a great deal to offer."

"For example?" lazily, with a lift of the eyebrows.

"He is a gentleman--and a genius----"

His face darkened. "I'll pass over the first part of that until later.
But why call him a 'genius'?"

"He has written a story," breathlessly, "oh, all the world will know it
soon. The people who have read it, in New York, are crazy about it----"

"Is that all? A story? So many people write nowadays."

"Well," she asked quietly, "what more have you to offer?"

"Love, Becky. You intimated a moment ago that I was not--a
gentleman--because I failed--once. Is that fair? How do you know that
Paine has not failed--how do you know----? And love hasn't anything to
do with genius, Becky, it has to do with that night in the music-room,
when you sang and when I--kissed you. It has to do with nights like
those in the old garden, with the new moon and