“Not a bit.  We’ll manage perfectly, thank you,” Randy’s voice dismissed him.

He went, with a lingering glance backward.  Becky, catching that glance, waked suddenly to the fact that he was very good-looking.  “It was kind of him to offer, Randy.”

“Was it?”

Nothing more was said, but Becky wondered a bit as they drove on.  She liked Major Prime.  He was an old dear.  But why had Randy thanked Heaven that the other man was not the Major?

III

The Waterman motor passed the surrey, and Dalton, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the pretty girl, was rewarded only by a view of Randy on the front seat with his back turned on the world, while he talked with someone hidden by the curtains.

Perhaps the fact that she was hidden by the curtains kept Dalton’s thoughts upon her.  He felt that her beauty must shine even among the shadows—­he envied Major Prime, who sat next to her.

The Major was aware that his position was enviable.  It was worth much to watch these two young people, eager in their reunion.  “Becky Bannister, whom I have known all my life,” had been Randy’s presentation of the little lady with the shining hair.

“Grandfather doesn’t know that I came, or Aunt Claudia.  They felt that your mother ought to see you first and so did I. Until the last minute.  Then I saw Jefferson driving by—­I was down at the gate to wave to you, Randy—­and I just came——­” her gay laugh was infectious—­the men laughed with her.

“You must let me out when we get to Huntersfield, and you mustn’t tell—­either of you.  We are all to dine together to-night at your house, Randy, and when you meet me, you are to say—­’Becky’—­just as you did to-day, as if I had fallen from the skies.”

“Well, you did fall—­straight,” Randy told her.  “Becky, you are too good to be true; oh, you’re too pretty to be true.  Isn’t she, Major?”

“It is just because I am—­American.  Are you glad to get back to us, Randy?”

“Glad,” he drew a long breath.  Nellie, who had wedged herself in tightly between her master and Jefferson, wriggled and licked his hand.  He looked down at her, tried to say something, broke a little on it, and ended abruptly, “It’s Heaven.”

“And you weren’t hurt?”

“Not a scratch, worse luck.”

She turned to Major Prime and did the wise thing and the thing he liked.  “You were,” she said, simply, “but I am not going to be sorry for you, shall I?”

“No,” he said, “I am not sorry for—­myself——­”

For a moment there was silence, then Becky carried the conversation into lighter currents.  “Everybody is here for the Horse Show next week.  Your mother’s house is full, and those awful Waterman people have guests.”

“One of them came down with us.”

“The good-looking man who offered us a ride?”