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Updated: June 28, 2025
And if Romeo had been a Georgie-Porgie, then alas, poor Juliet! The Pavilion had been built a hundred and fifty years before of cedar logs. There had been a time when Thomas Jefferson had walked over to drink not tea, but something stronger with dead and gone Paines. Its four sides were open, but the vines formed a curtain which gave within a soft gloom.
"It's my last night," Madge had said; "shall we go out in the garden and watch the moon rise?" "Sorry," George had told her, "but I've promised Flora to take a fourth hand at bridge." "And after that?" asked Madge softly. "What do you mean?" "Who is the new little girl?" It was useless to pretend. "She's a beauty, rather, isn't she?" "Oh, Georgie-Porgie, I wish you wouldn't." "Wouldn't what?"
Georgie-Porgie asked, and smiled to himself; "few women are that." After Randy had gone George Dalton walked the floor. He knew innocence when he saw it, and he knew that Randy had told the truth. Becky Bannister was as white as the doves that were flittering down to the garden pool to drink. He had never cared particularly for innocence. But he cared for Becky.
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 don't need to warn you not to break your own. You are the greatest example of the truth of 'he who loves and runs away will live to love another day. Oh, Georgie-Porgie, will you ever love any woman enough to rise with her to the heights? "Perhaps there aren't any heights for you or me. But I should like to think there were. Different hilltops, of course, so that we could wave across.
He knew now that he cared tremendously. Randy had made him know it. It had not seemed so bad to think of Becky as breaking her heart and waiting for a word from him. It seemed very bad, indeed, when he thought of her as married to Randy. He felt that, of course, she did not love Randy; that he, Georgie-Porgie, had all that she had to give But woman-like, she had taken this way to get back at him.
She sat very still. He bent down to her. "You're not angry?" "No." Her cheeks were flaming. She was thrilled by his masterfulness. No man had ever spoken to her like that. She was, indeed, having her first experience of ardent, impassioned pursuit. So might young Juliet have given ear to Romeo. And if Romeo had been a Georgie-Porgie, then alas, poor Juliet!
A chain of broken dreams? A husk of golden armor? Georgie-Porgie who had kissed and run away. She was listless at breakfast. The storm was over, and the Admiral was making plans for a picnic the next day to Altar Rock. "Hot coffee and lobster sandwiches, and a view of the sea on a day like this." Becky smiled.
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.
"You don't mean Mr. Dalton's Kemp?" "Yes. He came to Mark. Didn't you know?" Becky had not known. "Why did he leave Mr. Dalton?" "He and Georgie had a falling out about an omelette. I fancy it was a sort of comic opera climax. So Mark got a treasure and Georgie-Porgie lost one " "Georgie-Porgie?" "Oh, I always call him that, and he hates it," Madge laughed at the memory.
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