She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it. "Let me speak to-night, Becky--and then forever, we'll forget it. I love you--very much. You don't love me, and I should thank the stars for that, although I am not sure that I do. I am not a man to deal in--futures. I'll tell you why some day." He drew a long breath and went on in a lighter tone: "But you, Becky--you've got to find a man whose face you will want to see at the other end of the table--for life. It sounds like a prisoner's sentence, doesn't it?" But he couldn't carry it off like that, and presently he hid his face against her hands. "Oh, Becky, Becky," she heard him whisper. Then there was the Admiral's step in the hall and Archibald was on his feet, staring in the fire when the little man came in. "Any letters for Charles to mail?" "No, Grandfather." The Admiral limped away. Becky stood up. Cope turned from the fire. "If it doesn't rain to-morrow, I'll show America to Olga of Petrograd." They smiled at each other, and Becky held out her hand. He bent and kissed it. "I shall sleep well to-night because of--to-morrow." III But when to-morrow came there was a telephone message for Becky that Major Prime and his wife were in town. They had messages for her from Huntersfield, and from King's Crest. "And so our day is spoiled," said Archibald. "We can come again," said the Admiral, "but we must be getting back to Siasconset to-morrow. I wrote to Tristram. We'll have Prime and his wife here for dinner to-night, and drive them out somewhere this afternoon. I remember Mark Prime well. I played golf with him one season at Del Monte. How did you happen to know him, Becky?" Becky told of the Major's sojourn to King's Crest. The Copes made separate plans for the afternoon. "If I can't have you to myself, Becky," Cope complained, "I won't have you at all----" Madge, sitting later next to Becky in the Admiral's big car, was lovely in a great cape of pale wisteria, with a turban of the same color set low on her burnt-gold hair. "I have brought you wonderful news of Randy Paine," she said to Becky. "He has sold his story, 'The Trumpeter Swan.' To one of the big magazines. And they have asked for more. He is by way of being rather--famous. He came on to New York the day after we arrived. They had telegraphed for him. We wanted him to come up here with us, but he wouldn't." "Why wouldn't he?" "He had some engagements, and after that----" "He will never write another story like 'The Trumpeter Swan,'" said Becky. "Why not?" "It--it doesn't seem as if he could---- It is--wonderful, Mrs. Prime----" "Well, Randy--is wonderful," said Madge. A silence fell between them, and when Madge spoke again it was of the Watermans. "We go to the Crossing to-morrow. I must see Flora before I go West." The blood ran up into Becky's heart. She wondered if George Dalton was with the Watermans. But she did not dare ask. So she asked about California instead. "You will live out there?"