ve luck, George," Lambert commented. "I wouldn't lay against you
now. I'll go you fifty, Driggs, on his ten."

"Done!"

The next throw the dice turned up six and four.

"The very greatest of men," Wandel said, ruefully.

While George put the money in his pocket Dalrymple straightened,
frowning.

"Double or quits! Revenge!"

"I said once," George reminded him. "I'm off to bed."

The others resumed their play. Dalrymple stared at George, an ugly light
in his eyes. George nodded, and the other followed him to the door.
George handed him a hundred dollars.

"Save you running upstairs. How much do you owe me now?"

"Couple hundred."

"I shouldn't worry about that," George laughed. "When you want a good
deal more and it's inconvenient to run upstairs I might save you some
trouble."

"Now that's white of you," Dalrymple condescended, and went, a trifle
unsteadily, back to the table.

George carried to his room an impression that he had thoroughly soiled
his hands at last, but unavoidably. Of course he had scorned Blodgett
for involving Sinclair. His own case was very different. Besides, he
hadn't actually involved Dalrymple yet, but he had made a start.
Dalrymple had always gunned for him. More than ever since Sylvia's
announcement, George felt the necessity of getting Dalrymple where he
could handle him. If she had chosen Dalrymple, of course, money would
serve only until the greedy youth could get his fingers in the Planter
bags. He shook with a quick repugnance. No matter who won her it
mustn't be Dalrymple. He would stop that at any cost.

He sat for some time on the edge of the bed, studying the pattern of the
rug. Was Dalrymple the man to arouse a grand passion in her? She had
said:

"I can't always be running away from you."

She had told him and no one else. Was the thing calculation, quite
bereft of love? Oh, no. George couldn't imagine he was of such
importance she would flee that far to be rid of him; but he went to bed
at last, confessing the situation had elements he couldn't grasp.
Perhaps, when he knew surely who the man was, they would become
sufficiently ponderable.

XI

He was up early after a miserable night, and failed to rout his
depression with a long ride over country roads. When he got back in
search of breakfast he found the others straggling down. First of all he
saw Dalrymple, white and unsteady; heard him asking for Sylvia. Sylvia
hadn't appeared.

"Who's for church?" Blo