icient evidence that he wanted her--and her
money. A large portion of the enmity between them, in fact, could be
traced to the day he had found her portrait displayed on Dalrymple's
desk. The only argument against Dalrymple was his weakness, and people
smiled at that indulgently, ascribing it to youth--even Sylvia who
couldn't possibly know how far it went.

Suspense was intolerable. He walked into the house and replaced the coat
and cap in the closet. He commenced to look for Sylvia. No matter whose
toes it affected he was going to have another talk with her if either of
his hazards touched fact.

IX

He caught the rising and falling of a perpetual mixed conversation only
partially smothered by a reckless assault on a piano. He traced the
racket to the large drawing-room where groups had gathered in the
corners as if in a hopeless attempt to escape the concert. Sylvia sat
with none. One of the fluffy young ladies was proving the strength of
the piano. Rogers was amorously attentive to her music. Lambert and
Betty sat as far as possible from everyone else, heads rather close.
Blodgett hopped heavily from group to group.

Over the frantic attempts of the young performer the human voice
triumphed, but the impulse to this conversation was multiple. From no
group did Sylvia's name slip, and George experienced a sharp wonder; so
far, evidently, she had chosen to tell only him.

The young lady at the piano crashed to a brief vacation. The chatter,
following a perfunctory applause, rose gratefully.

"Fine! Fine!" Blodgett roared. "Your next stop ought to be Carnegie
Hall."

"She ought to play in a hall," someone murmured unkindly.

George retreated, relieved that Blodgett wasn't with Sylvia; and a
little later he found Dalrymple in the smoking-room sipping
whiskey-and-soda between erratic shots at billiards. Wandel was at the
table most of the time, counting long strings with easy precision.

"What's up, great man?" he wanted to know.

Dalrymple, too, glanced curiously at George over his glass. "Nothing
exceptional that I know of," George snapped and left the room.

It added to his anger that his mind should let through its discontent.
At least Sylvia wasn't with Blodgett or Dalrymple, and he tried to tell
himself his jealousy was too hasty. All the eligible men weren't
gathered in this house. He wandered from room to room, always seeking
Sylvia. Where could she have gone?

He met guests fleeing from drawing-r