for supper. Jane relieved her mind to the Admiral and his
guests. "She had a gentleman here this afternoon for tea, and neither of
them ate anything. And now there's another gentleman, and the rolls are
spoiling."

"You can serve supper, Jane," the Admiral told her; "they can eat when
they come."

When they came, Becky's cheeks were as red as her cape. As she swept
within the radius of the candle-light, Archibald Cope, who had risen at
her entrance, knew what had happened. Her eyes were like stars. "Did
Jane scold about us?" she asked, with a quick catch of her breath; "it
was so lovely--with the moon."

Back of her was young Randy--Randy of the black locks, of the high-held
head and Indian profile, Randy, with his air of Conqueror.

"I've told them all about you," Becky said, "and they have read your
story. Will you please present him properly, Grandfather, while I go and
fix my hair?"

She came back very soon, slim and childish in her blue velvet smock, her
hair in that bronze wave across her forehead, her eyes still lighted.

She sat between her grandfather and Archibald.

"So," said Cope softly, under cover of the conversation, "it has
happened?"

"What has happened?"

"The happy ending."

"Oh--how did you know?"

"As if the whole world wouldn't know just to look at you."

The Randy of the supper table at "The Whistling Sally" was a Randy that
Becky had never seen. Success had come to him and love. There was the
ring of it in his young voice, the flush of it on his cheeks. He was a
man, with a man's future.

He talked of his work. "If I am a bore, please tell me," he said, "but
it is rather a fairy-tale, you know, when you've made up your mind to a
hum-drum law career to find a thing like this opening out."

Becky sat and listened. Her eyes were all for her lover. Already she
thought of him at King's Crest, writing for the world, with her money
making things easy for him, but not spoiling the simplicity of their
tastes. If she thought at all of George Dalton, it was to find the
sparkle and shine of his splendid presence dimmed by Randy's radiance.

"I hate to say that he is--charming," Cope complained.

He was a good sport, and he wanted Becky to be happy. But it was not
easy to sit there and see those two--with the pendulum swinging between
them of joy and dreams, and the knowledge of a long life together.

"Why should it be?" he asked Louise, as he stood beside her, later, on
t