ed reluctant to speak. The women glanced at him
uneasily. Lambert started to rise. In spite of his preoccupation George
had a suspicion of the truth. All at once Blodgett half expressed it,
bringing his fist noisily down on the table.

"The Huns have torpedoed an American boat!"

Straker blurted out the truth.

"Oh, no, Mr. Blodgett. It's the _Lusitania_, but apparently the losses
are serious."

For a moment the silence was complete. Even the servants forgot their
errands and remained immobile, with gaping faces. An evil premonition
swept George. There were many Americans on the _Lusitania_. He knew a
number quite well. Undoubtedly some had gone down. Which of his friends?
One properly asked such questions only when one's country was at war.
The United States wasn't at war with Germany. Would they be now? How was
the sinking of the _Lusitania_ going to effect him?

Old Planter, Blodgett, and Lambert were already on their feet, starting
for the door. Mrs. Planter rose, but unhurriedly, and went close to her
husband's side. In that movement George fancied he had caught at last
something warm and human. Probably she had weighed the gravity of this
announcement, and was determined to wheedle the old man from too much
excitement, from too great a temper, from too thorough a preoccupation
with the changes bound to reach Wall Street from this tragedy.

"I want to talk to Brown, too, if you please," Blodgett roared.

They crowded into the hall, all except Sylvia and George who had risen
last. He had measured his movements by hers. They entered the library
together while the others hurried through to Mr. Planter's study where
the telephone stood, anxious to speak with Brown's voice. She wanted to
follow, but he stopped her by the table where his cap had rested that
night, from which he had taken her photograph.

"You might give me a minute," he said.

She faced him.

"What do you want? Why did you come here, Mr. Morton?"

"For this minute."

"You've heard what's happened," she said, scornfully, "and you can
persist in such nonsense."

"Call it anything you please," he said. "To me such nonsense happens to
be vital. It's your fault that I have to take every chance, even make
one out of a tragedy like that."

He nodded toward the study door through which strained voices vibrated.

"Children, too!--Vanderbilt!--More than a thousand!--Good God, Brown!"

And Blodgett's roar, throaty with a new ferocity:

"We'll f