"I'm a little off the Planters," Dalrymple said.

"Since when?"

Dalrymple's face became redder than ever. For a moment his nervousness abandoned him. He seemed to stiffen with violent thoughts.

"Don't like buying and selling of women in any family. Not as decent as slavery."

George rose quietly. He hadn't expected just this.

"Be careful," he warned. "What are you talking about?"

"What the whole town talks about," Dalrymple burst out. "You know her. I ask you. Hasn't she enough without selling herself, body and soul? No better than an unmentionable----"

George sprang. He didn't stop to tell himself that Dalrymple was unaccountable, in a sense, out of his head. He didn't dare stop, because he knew if Dalrymple finished that sentence he would try to kill him.

Dalrymple's mouth fell open, in fact, before the unexpected attack. He couldn't complete the sentence, didn't try to; drew back against the desk instead; grasped a convenient ink container; threw it; called shrilly for help.

George shook the streaming black liquid from his face. With his stained hands he grasped Dalrymple. His fingers tightened with a feeling of profound satisfaction. No masks now! Finally the enmity of years was unleashed. He had Dalrymple where he had always wanted him.

"One more word----You been saying that kind of thing----"

The hurrying of many feet in the outer office recalled him. The impulsive George Morton crept back beneath the veneer. He let Dalrymple go, drew out his handkerchief, looked distastefully at the black stains on his clothing.

Lambert and Goodhue closed the door on the curious clerks.

"What in heaven's name----"

It was Lambert who had spoken. Goodhue merely shrugged his shoulders, as if he had all along expected such a culmination.

Dalrymple, fingering his throat spasmodically, sank in a chair. His face infused. His breath came audibly.

"Caught him harder than I realized," George reflected. He spoke aloud with his whimsical smile.

"Looks as if I'd lost my temper. I don't often do it."

He had no regret. He was happy. He believed himself nearer Sylvia than he had ever been. He felt in grasping Dalrymple's throat as if he had touched her hands.

He failed to give its true value, consequently, to Lambert's angry turning on him after Dalrymple's shaking accusation.

"Sorry, Lambert. Had to--to do what I could. He--he was rotten impertinent about--about--Sylvia."

XVIII

Goodhue caught Lambert's arm. In a flash George read the meaning of Dalrymple's charge. Naturally he was the one to do something of the sort, had to try it. He had been afraid of Lambert's knowing of the loan. How much less could he let Lambert learn why George had justifiably shut his mouth.

"Keep quiet," George warned Lambert. "d.i.c.ky! Can you get him out of here. He needs attention. I'm not a doctor. He hasn't been himself since he came."

But Lambert wouldn't have it.

"Repeat that, Dolly," he commanded.

George walked to Dalrymple.

"You'll not say another word."

Dalrymple stood up, weaving his fingers in and out; as it were, clasping his hands to George.

"I'm sorry, Morton. d.a.m.n sorry. Forget--forget----"

His voice wandered into a difficult silence, as if he had seen this way, too, a chance of implicating himself with Sylvia's brother; but his eyes continued to beg George. They were like the eyes of an animal, caught in a net, beseeching release.

Goodhue gave him his hat. He took it but drew away from the other's touch on his arm.

"Don't think I'm not all right," he said in a frightened voice. "Took me by surprise, but I'm all right--quite all right. Going home."

He glanced at Lambert and again at George, then left the room, pulling at his necktie, Goodhue anxiously at his heels.

"What about it?" Lambert asked George sharply.

George sat down, still trying to rid himself of the black souvenirs of the encounter.

"Don't be a fool. I said nothing about your sister--nothing whatever."

He couldn't get rid of Dalrymple's begging eyes, yet why should he spare him at all?

"The rest of it," he went on, easily, "is between Dalrymple and me."

"I'm not sure," Lambert challenged.

He reminded George of the younger Lambert who had advanced with a whip in his hand.

"See here," he said. "You can't make me talk about anything I don't care to. I've told you I didn't mention your sister. I couldn't to that fellow."

Lambert spread his hands.

"What is there about you and Sylvia--ever since that day? I believe you, but I tried to give you a licking for her sake once, and I'd do it again."

George laughed pleasantly.

"You make me feel young."

Clearly Lambert meant to warn him, for he went on, still aggressive:

"I care more for her than anybody in the world."

The laughter left George's face.

"Anybody?"