ger folk had had it in mind
that at last year's ball Mary Flippin had sat in the gallery. But not
even the most snobbish of them would have dared to brave Becky
Bannister's displeasure. Back of her clear-eyed serenity was a spirit
which flamed and a strength which accomplished. Becky was an amiable
young person who could flash fire at unfairness or injustice or undue
assumption of superiority.

The music had stopped and the balconies were filled. George, in the
darkness, was aware of the beauty of the scene--the lantern making
yellow moons--the golden groups beneath them. Mary and Truxton with a
friend or two were in the balcony adjoining the one where Becky sat
with young Paine.

"Isn't she a dear and a darling, Randy?" Becky was saying; "and how
well she carries it off. Truxton is so proud of her, and she is so
pretty."

"She can't hold a candle to you, Becky."

"It is nice of you to say it." She leaned on the stone balustrade and
swung her fan idly.

"I am not saying it to be nice."

"Aren't you--oh----!" She gave a quick exclamation.

"What's the matter?"

"I dropped my fan."

"I'll go and get it," he said, and just then the music started.

"No," said Becky, "never mind now. This is your dance with Mary--and
she mustn't be kept waiting."

"Aren't you dancing this?"

"It is Truxton's, and I begged off. Run along, dear boy."

When he was gone she leaned over the rail. Below was a tangle of
bushes, and the white gleam of a stone bench. Beyond the bushes was a
path, and farther on a fountain. It was a rather imposing fountain,
with a Neptune in bronze riding a sea-horse, with nymphs on dolphins in
attendance. Neptune poured water from a shell which he held in his
hand, and the dolphins spouted great streams. The splash of the water
was a grateful sound in the stillness of the hot night, and the mist
which the slight breeze blew towards a bed of tuberoses seemed to bring
out their heavy fragrance. Always afterwards when Becky thought of
that night, there would come to her again that heavy scent and the
splash of streaming water.

"Becky," a voice came up from below, "I have your fan."

She peered down into the darkness, but did not speak.

"Becky, I am punished, enough, and I am--starved for you----"

"Give me my fan----"

"I want to talk to you--I must--talk to you."

"Give me my fan----"

"I can't reach----"

"You can stand on that bench."

He stood on it, and she could see