on.

George talked a great deal about himself. Perhaps if he had listened
instead to Becky he might have learned things which would have
surprised him. But he really had very interesting things to tell, and
Becky was content to sit in silence and watch his hands on the wheel.
They were small hands, and for some tastes a bit too plump and
well-kept, but Becky found no fault with them. She felt that she could
sit there forever, and watch his hands and listen to his clear quick
voice.

At last George glanced at the little clock which hung in front of him.
"Look here," he said, "I told Kemp to have tea for us at a place which
I found once when I walked in the woods. A sort of summer house which
looks towards Monticello. Do you know it?"

"Yes. Pavilion Hill. It's on Randy Paine's plantation--King's Crest."

"Then you've been there?"

"A thousand times with Randy."

"I thought it was Waterman's. We shan't be jailed as trespassers,
shall we?"

"No. But how could you tell your man to have tea for us when you
didn't know that I'd be--willing?"

"But I did--know----"

A little silence, then "How?"

"Because when I put my mind on a thing I usually get my way."

She sat very still. He bent down to her. "You're not angry?"

"No." Her cheeks were flaming. She was thrilled by his masterfulness.
No man had ever spoken to her like that. She was, indeed, having her
first experience of ardent, impassioned pursuit. So might young Juliet
have given ear to Romeo. And if Romeo had been a Georgie-Porgie, then
alas, poor Juliet!

The Pavilion had been built a hundred and fifty years before of cedar
logs. There had been a time when Thomas Jefferson had walked over to
drink not tea, but something stronger with dead and gone Paines. Its
four sides were open, but the vines formed a curtain which gave within
a soft gloom. They approached it from the east side, getting out of
their car and climbing the hill from the roadside. They found Kemp
with everything ready. The kettle was boiling, and the tea measured
into the Canton teapot which stood in its basket----

"Aren't you glad you came?" Dalton asked. "Kemp, when you've poured
the tea, you can look after the car."

The wind, rising, tore the dry leaves from the trees. Kemp, exiled, as
it were, from the Pavilion, sat in the big car and watched the
gathering blackness. Finally he got out and put up the curtains.
Everything would be ready when Dalton came.