But I'm not sure whether I'll go or not. That's what worries me."

"You've made," Bailly said, testily, "enough out of the war to warrant your giving it something."

George grinned. It was quite like old times.

"Even myself, on top of all the rest I might make out of it by staying back?"

"You're not as selfish as you'd have me believe," Bailly cried.

George quoted a phrase of Wandel's since Bailly seemed just now to approve of the adventurer.

"The man that keeps himself makes the world better."

Bailly drove him out of the room to dress for dinner.

"I won't talk to you any more," he said. "I won't curse the loiterer at the base until I am sure he isn't going to climb."

XVI

At least George wouldn't have to decide at once. When it became clear that for the present Mrs. Alston's optimism was justified he breathed easier. With Goodhue, Lambert, and Mundy he applied himself unreservedly to his work. Consequently he didn't visit much, didn't see Sylvia again until the fall when he met her at a dinner at the Goodhues'. She shrank from him perceptibly, but there was no escape. He studied her with an easier mind. No date for her wedding had been set. Until that moment should come there was nothing he could do. What he would be able to accomplish then was problematical. Something. She shouldn't throw herself away on Blodgett.

"It must be comforting," he heard her say to Goodhue, "to know if trouble comes your wonderful firm will be taken care of."

George guessed she had meant him to hear that.

"I'm sure I hope so," Goodhue answered her, "but what do you mean?"

"I heard Mr. Morton say once he didn't think he'd care to go to war.

Didn't I, Mr. Morton?"

Goodhue, clearly puzzled by her manner, laughed.

"Give us something more useful, Sylvia. He's a born fighter."

"I believe I said it," George answered her. "There might be problems here I couldn't very well desert."

Her eyes wavered. He recalled her hysterical manner that evening at Oakmont. She still sought chances to hurt him. In spite of Blodgett, then, she recognized a state of contest between them. He smiled contentedly, for as long as that persisted his cause was alive.

XVII

It languished, however, during the winter as did Blodgett's hopes of a speedy wedding. The Planters' Fifth Avenue home remained closed, because of Mr. Planter's health. Sylvia and her mother went south with him.

Blodgett made a number of flying trips, deserting his affairs to that extent to be with Sylvia. George was satisfied for the present to let things drift.

Dalrymple certainly had drifted with events. He had taken no pains to hide the shock of Sylvia's engagement. George of all people could understand his disappointment, his helpless rage; but Dalrymple hadn't bothered him, and he had about decided he never would.

One spring day, quite without warning, he appeared in George's office.

It was not long after the Planters' return to Oakmont. What did he want here? Was there any point spending money on him as matters stood?

He looked at Dalrymple, a good deal surprised, reading the dissipation recorded in his face, the nervousness exposed by the mobile hands. All at once he understood why he had come at last. Dalrymple had wandered too far. The patience of his friends had been exhausted. Perhaps Wandel had taken George's hint. At any rate, he had let himself in for it.

"An opportunity to make a little money," Dalrymple was mumbling uneasily. "Need capital. Not much. You said at Blodgett's--just happened to remember it, and was near----"

"How much?" George demanded, stopping his feeble lies.

Dalrymple, George suspected, because of his manner, asked for less than half what he had come to get.

"What say to a couple thousand? Make it five hundred more if you can.

Not much in the way of security."

"Never mind the security."

George pressed a b.u.t.ton, and directed the clerk who responded to draw up a note.

"Got to sign something?" Dalrymple asked, suspiciously.

George smiled.

"Do you mind my keeping a little record of where my money goes--in place of security?"

Dalrymple was quite red.

"All right, if you insist."

"I insist. Care to change your mind?"

"No. Only thought it was just a little loan between--friends."

The word left his tongue with difficulty. George guessed that the other retained enough decency to loathe himself for having to use it. The nervousness of the long fingers increased while the clerk prepared the note and George wrote the check. George put a pen in the unsteady hand.

"Sign here, please."

Dalrymple obeyed with a signature, shaky, barely legible.

"Nice of you to do me a favour. Appreciate it. Thanks."

To George it would have been worth that money to find out just how Sylvia's extended engagement had affected Dalrymple. Was it responsible for his speeding up on the dangerous path of pleasure? Of that he could learn only what the other chose to disclose, probably nothing. But what was he waiting for now that he had the money? Why were his fingers twitching faster than ever?

"Didn't see Lambert when I came in," he managed.

"I daresay he's about," George said. "Want him?"

Dalrymple raised his hand.

"That's just it," he whispered. "Rather not see Lambert. Rather this little transaction were kept sub rosa. You understand. No point Lambert's knowing."

"Why not?" George asked, coolly, feeling himself on the edge of the truth.