“That chile kep’ me fixin’ that pink dress.  She ain’ never cyard what she wo’.  And now she stan’ in front o’ dat lookin’-glass an’ fuss an’ fiddle.  And w’en she ain’ fussin’ an’ fiddlin’, she jus’ moons around, waitin’ fo’ him to come ridin’ up in that red car like a devil on greased light’in’.  An’ I say right heah, Miss Claudia ain’ gwine like it.”

“Why ain’ she?”

“Miss Claudia know black f’um w’ite.  An’ dat man done got a black heart——­”

“Whut you know ’bout hit, Mandy?”

“Lissen.  You wait.  He’ll suck a o’ange an’ th’ow it away.  He’ll pull a rose, and scattah the leaves.”  Mandy, stirring gravy, was none the less dramatic.  “You lissen, an’ wait——­”

“W’en Miss Claudia comin’?”

“In one week, thank the Lord,” Mandy pushed the gravy to the back of the stove and pulled forward an iron pot.  “The soup’s ready,” she said; “you go up and tell the Jedge, Calvin.”

All through dinner, Becky was conscious of that lock of hair in George’s pocket.  The strand from which the lock had been cut fell down on her cheek.  She had to tuck it back.  She saw George smile as she did it.  She forgave him.

It was after dinner that George spoke of Becky’s gown.

“It is perfect,” he said, “all except the pearls——?”

She gave him a startled glance.  “The pearls?”

“I want to see you without them.”

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.