"Thanks," Dalrymple answered, petulantly. "I'm quite capable of prescribing for myself."

He went out in search of his hat and coat.

George watched him, letting all his dislike escape. Continually they hovered on the edge of a break, but Dalrymple wouldn't quite permit it now. George was confident that the seed sown last night would flower.

He was glad when Mundy telephoned before dinner about some difficulties of transportation that might have been solved the next day. George sprang at the excuse, however, refused Blodgett's offer of a car to town, and drove to the station.

Dalrymple and Sylvia hadn't returned.

XII

In town Goodhue, too, read his discontent.

"You look tired out, George," he said the next morning. "Evidently Blodgett's party wasn't much benefit."

"I'm learning to dislike parties," George answered. "You were wise to duck it. What was the matter? Didn't fancy the Blodgett brand of hospitality?"

"Promised my mother to spend the week-end at Westbury. I'd have enjoyed it. I'm really growing fond of Blodgett."

There it was again, and you couldn't question Goodhue. Always he said just what he meant, or he kept his opinions to himself. Every word of praise for Blodgett reached George as a direct charge of disloyalty, of bad judgment, of narrow-mindedness. His irritation increased. He was grateful for the ma.s.s of work in which he was involved. That chained his imagination by day, but at night he wearily reviewed the past five years, seeking his points of weakness, some fatal omission.

Perhaps his chief fault had been too self-centred a pursuit of Sylvia.

Because of her he had repressed the instincts to which he saw other men pandering as a matter of course. Dalrymple did, yet she preferred him, perhaps to the point of making a gift of herself. He had avoided even those more legitimate pleasures of which the dice had appealed to him as a type. What was the use of it? Why had he done it? Yet even now, and still because of her, when you came to that, he had no desire to turn aside to the brighter places where plumed creatures flutter fatefully.

It was a species of tragedy that he had to keep himself for one who didn't want him.

It stared at him at breakfast from the page of a newspaper. It was amazing that the journal saw nothing grotesque in such a union; found it, to the contrary, sensible and beneficial, not only to the persons involved, but to the entire country.

Planter, the article pointed out, was no longer capable of bringing a resistless energy to his house which was a notable stone in the country's financial structure. Should any chance weaken that the entire building would react. His son was at present too young and inexperienced to watch that stone, to keep it intact. Later, of course--but one had to consider the present. To be sure there were partners, but after the fashion of great egoists Mr. Planter had avoided admitting any outstanding personality to his firm. It was a happy circ.u.mstance that Cupid, and so forth--for the senior partner of Blodgett and Sinclair was more than an outstanding personality in Wall Street. Some of his recent achievements were comparable with Mr. Planter's earlier ones. The dissolution of his firm and his induction into the house of Planter and Company were prophesied.

George continued to eat his breakfast mechanically. At least it wasn't Dalrymple, yet that resolution would have been less astonishing. Josiah Blodgett, fat, middle-aged, of no family, married to the beautiful and brilliant Sylvia Planter! But was it grotesque? Wasn't the paper right?

He had had plenty of proof that his own judgment of Blodgett was worthless. He crumpled the paper in his hand and stood up. His judgment was worth this: he was willing to swear Sylvia Planter didn't love the man she had elected to marry.

What did other people think?

Wandel was at hand. George stopped on his way out. The little man was still in bed, sipping coffee while he, too, studied that disturbing page; yet, when he had sent his man from the room, he didn't appear to find about it anything extraordinary.

"Good business all round," he commented, "although I must admit I'm surprised Sylvia had the common-sense to realize it. Impulsive sort, didn't you think, George, who would fly to some fellow because she'd taken a fancy to him? Phew! Planter plus Blodgett! It'll make her about the richest girl in America, why not say the world? Some households are uneasy this morning. Well! When you come down to it, what's the difference between railroads and mills? Between mines and real estate?

One's about as useful as the others."

"It's revolting," George said.

Wandel glanced over his paper.

"What's up, great man? Nothing of the sort. Blodgett has his points."

"As usual, you don't mean what you say," George snapped.

"But I do, my dear George."

"Blodgett's not like the people he plays with."

"Isn't that a virtue?" Wandel asked. "Perhaps it's why those people like him."

"But do they really?"

"You're purposely blind if you don't see it," Wandel answered. "Why the deuce don't you?"

George feared he had let slip too much. With others he would have to guard his interest closer, and he would delay the final break he had quite decided upon with Blodgett.

"Just the same," he muttered, ill at ease, preparing to leave, "I'd like Lambert's opinion."

"You don't fancy this has happened," Wandel said, "without Lambert's knowing all about it?"

George left without answering. At least he knew. It was simpler, consequently, to discipline himself. His manner disclosed nothing when he made the necessary visit to Blodgett. The round face was radiant. The narrow eyes burned with happiness.

"You're a cagy old Brummell," George said. "I've just seen it in the paper with the rest of the world. When's it coming off?"

Blodgett's content faded a trifle.

"She says not for a long time yet, but we'll see. Trust Josiah to hurry things all he can."

"Congratulations, anyway," George said. "You know you're ent.i.tled to them."

But he couldn't offer his hand. With that he had an instinct to tear the happiness from the other's face.

"You bet I am," Blodgett was roaring. "Any fool can see I'm pleased as punch."

George couldn't stomach any more of it. He started out, but Blodgett, rather hesitatingly, summoned him back. George obeyed, annoyed and curious.

"A good many years ago, George," Blodgett began, "I was a d.a.m.ned idiot.

I remember telling you that when Papa Blodgett got married it would be to the right girl."

"The convenient girl," George sneered. "Don't you think you're doing it?"

"Now see here, George. None of that. You forget it. I'm sorry I ever thought or said such stuff. You get it through your head just what this is--plain adoration."

He sprang to his feet in an emotional outburst that made George writhe.

"I don't see why G.o.d has been so good to me."

XIII

George escaped and hurried upstairs. Lambert was there, but he didn't mention the announcement, and George couldn't very well lead him. No one who did talk of it in his presence, however, shared his bitter disapproval. Most men dwelt as Wandel did on the material values of such a match, which, far from diminishing Sylvia's brilliancy, would make it burn brighter than ever.

Occasionally he saw Sylvia and Blodgett together. For him she had that air of seeking an unreal pleasure, but she was always considerate of Blodgett, who seemed perpetually on the point of clasping her publicly in his arms. A recurrent contact was impossible for George. He went to Blodgett finally, and over his spirited resistance broke the last tie.

"My remaining on your pay-roll," he complained, "is pure charity. I don't want it. I won't have it. G.o.d knows I'm grateful for all you've done for me. It's been a lot."