and a bag; and nothing to keep me from moving on."

"We aren't like that in the South."

"Do you like to stay in one place?"

"I never have. I have always been handed around."

"Would you like a home of your own?"

"Of course--after I am married."

"North, south, east or west?"

She put the question to him seriously. "Do you think it would make any
difference if you loved a man, where you lived?"

"Well, of course, there might be difficulties--on a desert island."

"Not if you loved him."

"My sister wouldn't agree with you."

"Why not?"

"She is very modern. She says that love has nothing to do with it.
Not romantic love. She says that when she marries she shall choose a
man who lives in New York, who likes to go to Europe, and who hates the
tropics. He must fancy pale gray walls and willow-green draperies, and
he must loathe Florentine furniture. He must like music and painting,
and not care much for books. He must adore French cooking, and have a
prejudice against heavy roasts. He must be a Republican and High
Church. She is sure that with such a man she would be happy. The dove
of peace would hover over the household, because she and her husband
would have nothing to quarrel about."

"Of course she doesn't mean it."

"She thinks she does."

"She won't if she is ever really in love."

He glanced at her. "Then you believe in the desert island?"

"I think I do----"

She stood up. "Did you feel a drop of rain? And Grandfather is
waving."

The Admiral on the porch of the closed Lodge was calling to them to
come under shelter.

It was a gentle rain, and they decided to walk home in it. They went
at a smart pace, which they moderated as Cope showed signs of fatigue.
"It's a beastly nuisance," he said, "to give out. I wish you would go
on ahead, and let me rest here----"

They rested with him. The two men talked, and Becky was rather silent.
When they started on again, Cope said to her, "Are you tired? It is a
long walk."

"No," she said, "I am not tired. And I have been thinking a lot about
the things you said to me."

He was not a conceited man, and he was aware that it was the things
which he had said to her which had set her mind to work, not any
personal fascination. She was quaint and charming, and he was glad
that she had come. He had been lonely since his sister left. And his
loneliness had fear back of it.

It was because of this conversation with Cope that Bec