"Love," said Randy calmly, "a man's respect for her goodness and worth—for her innocence. She's a little saint in a shrine."
"Is she?" Georgie-Porgie asked, and smiled to himself; "few women are that."
After Randy had gone George Dalton walked the floor. He knew innocence when he saw it, and he knew that Randy had told the truth. Becky Bannister was as white as the doves that were fluttering down to the garden pool to drink. He had never cared particularly for innocence. But
he cared for Becky. He knew now that he cared tremendously. Randy had made him know it. It had not seemed so bad to think of Becky as breaking her heart and waiting for a word from him. It seemed very bad, indeed, when he thought of her as married to Randy.
He felt that, of course, she did not love Randy; that he, Georgie-Porgie, had all that she had to give—— But woman-like, she had taken this way to get back at him. He wondered if she had sent Randy.
Up and down the terrace he raged like a lion. He wanted to show that cub—oh, if he might show him——!
Randy had known that he would rage, and as he rode home he had the serene feeling that he had stuck a splinter in George's flesh.
Oscar Waterman joined George on the terrace, but noticed nothing. His mind was full of Flora. "I am sorry young Paine went so soon. I wanted to thank him. Flora can't eat the jelly, but it was good of them to send it. She can't eat anything. She's worse, George. I don't know how I am going to stand it."
George was in no mood for condolence. Yet he was not quite heartless. "Look here," he said, "you mustn't give up."
"George, if she dies," Oscar said, wildly, "what