noyed that Dalrymple should have been included in the party, for it
was another mark, on top of his presence in the marble temple, of a
tightening bond of intimacy between him and the Planters. George
examined the man, therefore, with an eager curiosity. He looked well
enough, but George remained unconvinced by his apparent reformation,
suspecting its real purpose was to impress a willing public, for he had
studied Dalrymple during many years without uncovering any real
strength, or any disposition not to answer gladly to every appeal of the
senses. At least he was restless, rising from his chair too often to
wander about the room, but George conceded with a smile that his own
arrival might be responsible for that. The matter of the notes hadn't
been mentioned, but they existed undoubtedly even in Dalrymple's
careless mind, which must have forecasted an uncomfortable day of
payment.

Lambert seemed sure enough of his friend.

"Dolly's sticking to the job like a leech," he said to George when they
went upstairs to dress.

"I've no faith in him," George answered, shortly.

"You're an unforgiving brute," Lambert said.

George hastened away from the subject.

"I'm not chameleon, at least," he admitted with a smile, "which reminds
me. I don't see any of your dearly beloved brothers of the ranks in your
bridal party. Have you put private Oscar Liporowski up for any of your
clubs yet?"

"Unforgiving and unforgetting!" Lambert laughed.

"Then you acknowledge that talk in the Argonne was war madness?"

"By no means," Lambert answered, suddenly serious. "Let me get married,
will you? I can't bother with anything else now. Sylvia, whose mind
isn't filled with romance, threatens to become the socialist of the
family."

George stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"About what Sylvia's talking about," Lambert answered.

"Now I know you're mad," George said.

Lambert shook his head.

"But I don't take her very seriously. It's a nice game to seek beauties
in Bolshevism. It's played in some of the best houses. You must have
observed it--how wonderfully it helps get through a tea or a dinner."

III

George went to his own room, amused and curious. Could Sylvia talk
communism, even parrot-like, and deny him the rights of a brother? He
became more anxious than before to see her. He shrank, on the other
hand, from facing Betty who was about to take this enormous step
permanently away from him. Out of his wi