nted anybody else, never could have.

"Sylvia! Forgive me. I didn't know. I've loved you--always; I've never
dreamed how much. And I can't let you go."

He tried to find her lips again, but she fought, and he commenced to
remember. From a point behind his back something held her incredulous
attention. He turned quickly. Dalrymple stood between the hangings.

XVII

George experienced no fear, no impulse to release Sylvia. He was
conscious merely of a sharp distaste that it should have turned out so,
and a feeling of anger that Lambert was responsible through his failure
to grant his request; but Lambert might have been shocked to
forgetfulness by Dalrymple's announcement, or he might have had too
sharp a doubt of George's intentions. Sylvia had become motionless, as
if impressed by the futility of effort. In a moment would she cry out to
Dalrymple just what he had done? He waited for her charge, her
justification, while he continued to stare at Dalrymple's angry and
unbelieving face which the gay flower in his button hole had an air of
mocking. Dalrymple started forward.

"You see that, Lambert----"

Lambert, who must have been standing close behind him, walked into the
room, as amazed as Dalrymple, nearly as shocked.

"Sylvia!"

George let Sylvia go. She sat down in the chair by the fireplace and
looked straight ahead, her lips still half parted. Dalrymple hurried the
length of the room and paused in front of her.

"Be careful what you say, Dalrymple," George warned him.

Dalrymple burst out:

"You'll not tell me what to say. What's this mean, Sylvia? Speak up,
or----"

"Easy, Dolly," Lambert advised.

George waited. Sylvia did not cry out. He relaxed, hearing her say
uncertainly:

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I----"

She paused, looked down, commenced pulling at her gloves again with the
self-absorbed gestures of a somnambulist. George's heart leapt. She had
not accused him, had really said nothing, from her attitude wouldn't
just yet. Dalrymple swung furiously on Lambert.

"God! Am I to believe my eyes? Pretends to despise him, and I find her
in his arms!"

Sylvia glanced up once then, her face crimson, her lips trembling, then
she resumed her blank scrutiny of her gloves at which she still pulled.
George stepped swiftly forward, fancying Dalrymple was going to threaten
her with his hands.

"Why don't you talk up?" Dalrymple cried. "What you got to say? Don't
see there's much? Never would have