She unwound them and they dripped from her hand in milky whiteness. He made his survey. "That's better," he said, "if they were real it would be different--I don't like to have you cheapened by anything less than--perfect----" "Cheapened?" She smiled inscrutably, then dropped the pearls into a small box on the table beside her. "Yes," she said, "if they were real it would be different----" There was something in her manner which made him say hurriedly, "You must not think that I am criticizing your taste. If I had my way you should have everything that money can buy----" Her candid eyes came up to his. "There are a great many things that money cannot buy." "You've got to show me," George told her; "I've never seen anything yet that I couldn't get with money." "Could you buy--dreams----" "I'd rather buy--diamonds." "And money can't buy happiness." "It can buy a pretty good imitation." "But imitation happiness is like imitation pearls." He laughed and sat down beside her. "You mustn't be too clever." "I am not clever at all." "I believe you are. And you don't have to be. There are plenty of clever women but only one Becky Bannister." It was just an hour later that Georgie-Porgie kissed her. She was at the piano in the music-room, and there was no light except the glimmer of tall white candles, and the silver moonlight which fell across the shining floor. Her grandfather was nodding in the room beyond, and through the open window came the dry, sweet scent of summer, as if nature had opened her pot-pourri to give the world a whiff of treasured fragrance. Becky had been singing, and she had stopped and looked up at him. "Oh, you lovely--lovely, little thing," he said, and bent his head. To Becky, that moment was supreme, sacred. She trembled with happiness. To her that kiss meant betrothal--ultimate marriage. To George it meant, of course, nothing of the kind. It was only one of many moments. It was a romance which might have been borrowed from the Middle Ages. A rare tale such as one might read in a book. A pleasant dalliance--to be continued until he was tired of it. If he ever married, it must be a spectacular affair--handsome woman, big fortune, not an unsophisticated slip of a child from an impoverished Virginia farm. III In the days that followed, Becky's gay lover came and rode away, and came again. He sparkled and shone and worshipped, but not a word did he say about the future. He seemed content with this idyl of old gardens, scented twilights, starlight nights, with Beauty's eyes for him alone radiant eyes that matched the stars. Yet as the days went on the radiance was dimmed. Becky was in a state of bewilderment which bordered on fear. George showed himself an incomparable lover, but always he was silent about the things which she felt cried for utterance. So at last one day she spoke to the Judge. "Granddad, did you kiss Grandmother before you asked her to marry you?"