as fair as her string of imitation pearls, Becky in the golden haze of
the softly illumined room, Becky, Becky Bannister--the name chimed in
his ears.

Dalton had had some difficulty in getting away from Hamilton Hill.

"It's my last night," Madge had said; "shall we go out in the garden
and watch the moon rise?"

"Sorry," George had told her, "but I've promised Flora to take a fourth
hand at bridge."

"And after that?" asked Madge softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Who is the new--little girl?"

It was useless to pretend. "She's a beauty, rather, isn't she?"

"Oh, Georgie-Porgie, I wish you wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?"

"Kiss the girls--and make them--cry----"

"You've never cried----"

She laughed at that. "If I haven't it is because I know that
afterwards you always--run away."