"But there are so many who don't know you."
"I wonder," said Randy, fiercely, "why I am staying here and letting you say such things to me. There is nothing you can say which can hurt me. Becky knows—God knows, that I wish she were as poor as poverty. Perhaps money doesn't mean as much to us as it does to you. I wish I had it, yes—so that I could give it to her. But love for us means a tent in the desert—a hut on a mountain—it can never mean what we could buy with money."
"Does love mean to her," George's tone was incisive, "a tent in the desert, a hut on a mountain?"
Randy's anger flamed. "I think," he said, "that I should beg Becky's pardon for bringing her name into this at all—— And now, will you give me her fan?"
"When she asks for it—yes."
Randy was breathing heavily. "Will you give me her—fan——"
The mist from the fountain blew cool against his hot cheeks. The water which old Neptune poured from his shell flashed white under the stars.
"Let her ask for it——" George's laugh was light.
It was that laugh which made Randy see red. He caught George's wrists suddenly in his hands. "Drop it."