dgett roared.

Mrs. Sinclair offered to shepherd the devout. They weren't many. Men
even called Blodgett names for this newest recreation he had appeared to
offer.

"How late did you play?" George asked Blodgett.

"Until, when I looked at my watch, I thought it must be last evening.
These young bloods are too keen for Papa Blodgett."

"Get into you?" George laughed.

"I usually manage to hang on to my money," Blodgett bragged, "but the
stakes ran bigger and bigger. I'll say one thing for young Dalrymple.
He's no piker. Wrote I. O. U's until he wore out his fountain pen. I
could paper a room with what I got. I'd be ashamed to collect them."

"Why?" George asked, shortly. "When he wrote them he knew they had to be
redeemed."

Blodgett grinned.

"I expect he was a little pickled. Probably's forgot he signed them. I
won't make him unhappy with his little pieces of paper."

"Daresay he'll be grateful," George said, dryly.

His ride had brought no appetite. After breakfast he avoided people with
a conviction that his only business here was to see Sylvia again, then
to escape. It was noon before she appeared with Betty. He caught them
walking from the hall to the library, and he studied Sylvia's face with
anxious curiosity. It disappointed, repelled him. It was quite
unchanged, as full of colour as usual, as full of unfriendliness. She
nodded carelessly, quite as if nothing had happened--gave him the
identical, remote greeting to which he had become too accustomed. And
last evening he had fancied her nearer! He noticed, however, that she
had put her hands behind her back.

"I hope you're feeling better."

"Better! I haven't been ill," she flashed.

Betty helped him out.

"Last night Mrs. Sinclair told us you had a headache."

"You ought to know, Betty, that means I was tired."

But George noticed she no longer looked at him. She hurried on.

"Dolly!" he heard her laugh. "You must have sat up rather late."

"Trying to forget my worry about you, Sylvia. Guess it gave me your
headache."

George shrugged his shoulders and edged away, measuring his chances of
seeing her alone. They were slender, for as usual she was a magnet, yet
luck played for him and against her after luncheon, bringing them at the
same moment from different directions to the empty hall. She wanted to
hurry by, as if he were a disturbing shadow, but he barred her way.

"I suppose I should say I'm sorry I hurt you last night. I'll say it,