Grinning boys were up to their ears in juice, girls,
bare-armed and bare-necked, reached for plates held teasingly aloft. It
was all rather innocently bacchanal--a picture which for Becky had an
absolutely impersonal quality. She had entertained her guests as she had
eaten her dinner, outwardly doing the normal and conventional thing,
while her mind was chaotic. This jumble of people on the lawn seemed
unreal and detached. The only real people in the world were herself and
Dalton.
"How did you happen to ask us?" Randy was saying.
"Because I wanted you----"
"That doesn't explain it. It has something to do with Dalton----"
"He said he was coming--and I wanted a crowd."
"Were you afraid to see him alone?"
"He says that I am."
"When did he say it?"
"Just now. He's in the garden, Randy."
"Waiting for you?"
"He says that he is waiting."
Randy gave a quick exclamation. "Surely you won't go."
"Why not? I've got to turn--the knife----"
He groaned. "So this is what I've let you in for----"
"Well, I shall see it through, Randy."
"Becky, don't go to him in the garden."
"Why not?"
"The whole thing is wrong," the boy said, slowly. "I lied to give you
your opportunity, and now, I'd rather die than think of you out
there----"
"Then you don't trust me, Randy?"
"My dear, I do.
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