"

George mounted and rode on, his mood suddenly as sunless as the
declining afternoon. Those two still got along well enough. Certainly it
was time for a rumour to take shape there. He had a sharp appreciation
of having once been younger. Suppose, because of his ambition, he should
see all his friends mate, leaving him as rich as Blodgett, and, like
him, unpaired? He quickened the pace of his horse. It was inconceivable.
No matter what Sylvia did he would never slacken his pursuit. In every
other direction he had forged ahead. Eventually he would in that one.
Then why did it hurt him to picture Betty gone beyond his reach?

He crossed the Blodgett boundaries, and entered a country road as
undisturbed and enticing as the private bridle-paths had been. He took
crossroads at random, keeping only a sense of direction, trying to
understand why he was sorry he had to be with Betty when he had come
only to be near Sylvia.

The thickening dusk warned him, and he chose a road leading toward
Blodgett's. First he received the horseman's sense of something ahead of
him. Then he heard the muffled tread of horses in the snow, and
occasionally a laugh.

"More of Josiah's notables," he hazarded.

He put spurs to his horse, and in a few minutes saw against the snow
three dark figures ambling along at an easy trot. When he had come
closer he knew that two of the riders were men, the other a woman. It
was easy enough to identify Blodgett. A barrel might have ridden so if
it had had legs with which to balance itself; and that slender figure
was probably the trapped Sinclair. George hurried on, his premonition
assuming ugly lines of reality. Even at that distance and from the rear
he guessed that the graceful woman riding between the two men was
Sylvia. Why had she chosen an outing with the ridiculous Blodgett?
Sinclair, no man possessed sufficient charm to offset the disadvantages
of such a companionship.

George, when he was sure, reined in, surprised at his reflections.
Blodgett, heaven knew, had been good to him, and he had once liked the
man. Why, then, had he turned so viciously against him? Adjectives his
mind had recently applied to Blodgett flashed back: "Coarse," "fat,"
"ridiculous." Was it just? Why did he do it in spite of himself?

Sinclair turned and saw him. The party reined in, Sylvia, as one would
have expected, impatiently in advance of the others. Her nod and
something she said were lost in the men's cheery greet