“I wish you wouldn’t be—­rude—­Georgie-Porgie.”

“I hate that name, Madge.  Any man has a right to be rude when a woman calls him ‘Georgie-Porgie.’”

“So that’s it?  Well, now run along.  And please don’t come again until you are nice—­and smiling.”

“Oh, look here, Madge.”

“Run along——­”

“But there isn’t any place to run.”

Laughter lurked in her eyes.  “Oh, Georgie-Porgie—­for once in your life can’t you run away?”

“Do you think you are funny?”

“Perhaps not.  Smile a little, Georgie.”

“How can anybody smile, with everybody sick?”

“Oh, no, we’re not.  We are better.  I am so glad that Flora is improving.”

“Oscar thinks it is because that little old man prayed for her.  Fancy Oscar——­”

Madge meditated.  “Yet it might be, you know, George.  There are things in that old man’s petition that transcend all our philosophy.”

“Oh, you’re as bad as Oscar,” said George.  He rose and stood frowning on the threshold.  “Well, good-bye, Madge.”

“Good-bye, Georgie, and smile when you come again.”

She had guessed then that something had gone wrong in the game with the new little girl.  She had a consuming curiosity to know the details.  But she could never force things with Georgie.  Some day, perhaps, he would tell her.

And now here was news indeed!  She waited until young Beaufort and his wife had driven away, and until Mrs. Flippin had time for that quiet hour by her bedside.

“Mary looked lovely,” said Madge.

“Didn’t she?” Mrs. Flippin rocked and talked.  “You would never have known that dress was made for anybody but for Mary.  Becky gave Mary another dress out of a lot she had down from New York.  It is yellow organdie, made by hand and with little embroidered scallops.”

Madge knew the house which made a specialty of those organdie gowns with embroidered scallops, and she knew the price.

“But how does—­Becky manage to have such lovely things?”

“Oh, she’s rich,” Mrs. Flippin was rocking comfortably.  “You would never know it, and nobody thinks of it much.  But she’s got money.  From her grandmother.  And there was something in the will about having her live out of the world as long as she could.  That’s why they sent her to a convent and kept her down here as much as possible.  She ain’t ever seemed to care for clothes.  She could always have had anything she wanted, but she ain’t cared.  She told Mary that she had a sudden notion to have some pretty things, and she sent for them, and it was lucky for Mary that she did.  She couldn’t have gone to this ball, for there wasn’t any time to get anything made.  Mr. Flippin and I are going to buy her some nice things when she goes to Richmond.  But they won’t be like the things that Becky gets, of course.”