Part 23 (2/2)

She shuddered and hid her face in her hands. At last she crept into bed. Mandy, coming in to straighten the room, was told to lower the curtains.

”My--my head aches, Mandy.”

Mandy, wise old Mandy, knew of course that it was her heart. ”You res'

an' sleep, honey,” she said, and moved about quietly setting things in order.

But Becky did not sleep. She lay wide awake, and tried to get the thing straight in her mind. How had it happened? Where had she failed? Oh, why hadn't Sister Loretto told her that there were men like this? Why hadn't Aunt Claudia returned in time?

In the big box which Mandy had brought up were clothes--exquisite things which Becky had ordered from New York. She had thought it a miracle that George should have fallen in love with her believing her poor. It showed, she felt, his splendidness, his kindly indifference to--poverty. Yet she had planned a moment when he should know. When their love was proclaimed to the world he should see her in a splendor which matched his own. He had loved her in spite of her faded cottons, in spite of her shabby shoes. She had made up her list carefully, thinking of his sparkling eyes when he behold her.

She got out of bed and opened the box. The lively garments were wrapped in rosy tissue paper, and tied with ribbons to match. It seemed to Becky as if those rosy wrappings held the last faint glow of her dreams.

She untied the ribbons of the top parcel, and disclosed a frock of fine white lace--there was cloth of silver for a petticoat, and silver slippers. She would have worn her pearls, and George and she would have danced together at the Harvest Ball at the Merriweathers. It was an annual and very exclusive affair in the county. It was not likely that the Watermans and their guests would be invited, but there would have been a welcome for Dalton as her friend--her more than friend.

There was a white lace wrap with puffs of pink taffeta and knots of silver ribbon which went with the gown. Becky with a sudden impulse put it on. She stripped the cap from her head, and wound her bronze locks in a high knot. She surveyed herself.

Well, she was Becky Bannister of Huntersfield--and the mirror showed her beauty. And Dalton had not known or cared. He thought her poor; and had thrown her aside like an old glove!

Down-stairs the telephone rang. Old Mandy, coming up to say that Mr.

Randy was on the wire, stood in amazement at the sight of Becky in the rosy wrap with her hair peaked up to a topknot.

”Ain' you in baid?” she asked, superfluously.

”No. Who wants me, Mandy?”

”I tole you--Mr. Randy.”

Becky deliberated. ”I'll go down. When I come up we'll unpack all this, Mandy.”

Randy at the other end of the wire was asking Becky to go to a barbecue the next day.

”The boarders are giving it--it is Mother's birthday and they want to celebrate. It is to be on Pavilion Hill. They want you and the Judge----”

”To-morrow? Oh, I don't know, Randy.”

”Why not? Have you another engagement?”

”No.”

”Then what's the matter? Can't you tear yourself away from your s.h.i.+ning knight?”

Silence.

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