good natured, exuding an oily content? Goodhue hinted at a
reason one day when they were talking of Sinclair and his lack of
interest in the office.

"I've heard rather privately," Goodhue said, "that Sinclair got pretty
badly involved a few months ago. If it hadn't been for Blodgett he'd
have gone on the rocks a total wreck. Josiah puffed up and towed him
away whole. Naturally Sinclair and his lady are grateful. I daresay this
winter Blodgett's receiving invitations he's coveted, and if he gives
any parties himself he'll have some of the people he's always wanted."

George hid his disapproval. Blodgett didn't even have a veneer. Money
was all he could offer. And was Sinclair a great fool, or Blodgett the
cleverest man in Wall Street, that Sinclair didn't know who had involved
him and why?

As a matter of fact, Blodgett did appear at several dances, wobbling
about the room to the discomfort of slender young things, getting
generally in everyone's way. George hated to see him attempting to dance
with Sylvia Planter. Sylvia seemed rather less successful in avoiding
him than she did in keeping out of George's way. Until Blodgett's
extraordinary week-end in February, indeed, George didn't have another
chance to speak to her alone.

"Of course you'll come, George," Blodgett said. "If this weather holds
there'll be skating and sleighing--horses always, if you want 'em; and a
lot of first-class people."

"Who?" George asked.

"How about another financial chick--one of your partners?"

"Lambert Planter?"

The puffy face expanded.

"And the Sinclairs, because I'm a bachelor, and----"

But, since he could guess Sylvia would be there, George didn't care for
any more names. He wondered why Lambert or his sister should go. Had her
attitude toward the fat, coarse man conceivably altered because of his
gambolling at Oakmont? While he talked business with Mundy, Lambert, and
Goodhue, George's mind was distracted by a sense of imponderable loss.
Was it the shadow of what Sylvia had lost by accepting such an
invitation?

He didn't go until Saturday afternoon--there was too much to occupy him
at the office. This making money out of Europe's need had a good deal
constricted his social wanderings. It was why he hadn't frequently seen
Dalrymple close enough for annoyance; why he had met Betty only briefly
a very few times. He hadn't expected to run into either of them at
Blodgett's, but both were there. Betty was probably Lamb