Cliff Dark wasted no time moving from Becky to Alexandra. He made up his mind on a Satuday that he would have her; by Sunday he made his move. Cliff marched right up to Alex Margoldsby after church let out, when the rest of the clan was mingling in the old-graveyard. Drowned John, as usual, was chortling over his own tombstone. Margaret Penhallow laid some of her mauve iris on Laura Dark's grave. Cousin Virginia, of course, was whooping it up over Ned Powell. Her heart was still buried in the Rose River churchyard. It wouldn't do to let anyone forget it. Virginia debating going into hysterics. She liked to go into hysterics over Ned's grave at least once a month. But before she could decide, Stanton Grundy – couldn't they ever get away from him? – came over to her and said,

"Good God, woman! Stop that caterwauling and let the man rest in peace!"

Virginia stood and narrowed her eyes. The only thing to do was walk away with a dignified air. But the chance for hysterics had passed. Virginia hated Stanton Grundy bitterly under her widow's veil for ten minutes. Then the choir began to sing, and it was so much like the song sung at Ned's funeral Virginia felt she could let herself go again.

Alex Margoldsby was standing by a certain 'Aunt Becky's' grave with her pocketbook tucked under her arm and her gloves on her hand. Cliff took one of those little gloved hands and was pleased by the sight, because it made his own look so big and manly.

"Sweetheart," he said, trying to look down at her sentimentally. "Why don't we go for a drive?"

It is hard to be romantic in an old grave-yard, but Cliff gave it a valiant effort. In any event, Alexandra's eyes widened.

"What a lovely idea!" she said with a sweet smile. "You're so clever, Cliff."

Cliff felt at that moment that he really was very clever, and he led her to his coupé and made a solicitous show of helping her in the car. Then he got in beside her. Any other man would have hardly believed his luck, but Cliff never thought of luck. He didn't need to. Wasn't he Clifford Dark, son and heir of Treewoofe, of the grandest clan on P.E.I.? What need had he of luck with credentials like that?

They drove down by the shore road. Uncle Pippin saw the car flash round the bend and raised his eyes to heaven.

"Heaven help Cliff Dark," he said.

"Heaven help Alexandra Margoldsby," retorted Aunt Margaret, passing by. "Cliff is an over-fed, over-coddled baby. No one's ever said no to him in his life."

"Well, she ain't likely to be the one to start," Uncle Pippin pointed out, thinking of Nan's hey-day, in which she hadn't said 'no' to many men. "And Cliff ain't no half-breed. At least he's Dark and Penhallow through and through."

Aunt Margaret, whose mother had been a Milford, did not deign to respond.

It was a lovely, late autumn day. The maples had turned. The road was bowered in crimson splendour. There were little white peaks on the waves in the harbour, and the hazy purple sky of a far-off storm away out over the bar. It really was a warm, golden, pearl of the day. But Cliff did not notice the weather. He was too busy noticing all sorts of wonderful things about his companion.

For instance, she really was huggable, Cliff thought as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. She had a kissable dent above her upper lip, which he noticed when she leaned in to brush a lock of hair off of his brow. She smelled like something fresh and sweet, and her clothes were so neatly pressed and put together. All of her buttons were sewn on tight. She looked, Cliff thought, in a congratulatory way, like a woman who could keep good care of her man. Cliff remembered that Becky was sometimes a little unkempt. Her wool coat had a loose button on it. How, he wondered, could he have thought about marrying a woman like that?

Of course Cliff didn't mention marriage that day. Such a rapid courtship was sure to alarm any woman, even though the prospect of becoming his wife must be a pleasurable one. Cliff only meant to spend the afternoon getting to know Alex. Only – he ended up talking mostly of himself. No matter. Alex didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to like it. She punctuated his sentences for him, with little smiles and nods, and "Oh mys!" and "Oh, Cliff, aren't you wonderfuls."

This, Cliff reflected, really was more like it.

They spent the day together in this fashion, Cliff expounding on his favorite topic and Alex offered up her "Oh mys!" until the sun sank behind the horizon and the night came creeping up over the bay. As the last of the rays touched the little, lapping waves, Alex allowed him one kiss – but no more. Cliff was pleased. One kiss was fine for a drive out. Any more – well, that wouldn't be respectable.

They drove back to The Pinery in the deepening shadows, and Cliff helped Alex from the car. She looked for a moment as though she might drop her glove – she fumbled it – but she caught it. Cliff was glad. He couldn't ally himself with any woman who was so uncouth as to drop her glove in the drive-way.

"I'll come and collect you again tomorrow afternoon," said Cliff, very seriously to her. "We can go to the pictures or dancing. Something like that."

"Oh," began Alex, looking troubled. "I – I'd love to. But I couldn't possibly. I haven't a thing to wear, Cliff. Really, I don't. I've worn everything dozens of times before and I feel like a such a dowd, wearing all of my old dresses over and over again. Really I do."

"I'll buy you something nice, sweetheart," said Cliff with a wave of his hand. "You needn't worry. We'll go to the shops tomorrow and you'll pick out any thing your heart desires. Does that suit, kitten?"

"Oh Cliff!" cried Alex, eyes aglow with love. "You really are the most wonderful thing!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

All that remained was to tell Rebecca it was all over between them. Cliff didn't relish the idea of letting her know that she had missed out on her chance to become Mrs. Cliff Dark. She would probably take it pretty hard. But it must be done, since it never could be so.

But Rebecca took it surprisingly well. Her large eyes shone and Cliff supposed she was willing herself not to cry. He appreciated that. Poor little Becky understood that she must make it easy on him, no matter what she was feeling in her heart of hearts. She was a sweet thing, after all.

"Just not for me," he said gently, patting her hand. "You understand, don't you dear, that it could never be?"

"I – understand," Becky said, choking back what sounded to Cliff like a sob. She hid her face for a moment in her hands and her shoulders shook.

"Hey now – hey," began Cliff. He put his hand on her shoulder. "There's plenty of other fellows out there, Becky, and I'm sure any of them would like to have you. Don't cry, dear."

"Oh – I won't," gasped Becky. She stood, with a dignified air. "I – I think I need to be alone now, Cliff."

"Of course," said Cliff, with a little bow. He was pleased with that little bow. It just popped into his head to do it, but it seemed like the right thing to do in a situation like that. "Becky," he said – gently – at the door, "We'll always be friends, you know. You needn't worry over that."

"It is a weight off of my heart," said Becky seriously. Cliff could see that she was trying not to cry and his heart felt tender toward her. "Good-bye for ever – dearest Cliff."

Cliff went down the road with a lighter step. He had really handled that well and was surprised at how fine Becky had seemed with it. Poor dear. She was crying in her room – crying quite a bit. Cliff could hear her whoops and shrieks down in the road. Well, she was young and she was tolerably pretty. Nothing like Alexandra. Nothing like what the mistress of Treewoofe and Mrs. Cliff Dark should be. But Paul had been coming around and he'd comfort her – heh heh! Paul was a talent at 'comforting' the women-folk!

Cliff went all the way back to Treewoofe, where he telephoned Alex at The Pinery.

"Put on your new dress and let's go out," he told her.

"How wonderful you are!" Alex cried, and Cliff preened. He knew, after all, that he was.