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 the stars, and the old
goddesses."

"And with words which meant--nothing----"

"_Becky_," he protested.

"Yes," she said, "you know it is true--they meant nothing. Perhaps you
have changed since then. I don't know. But I know this, that I have
changed."

He felt back of her words the force which had always baffled him.

"You mean that you don't love me?"

"Yes."

"I--I don't believe it----"

"You must----"

"But----" he rose and went towards