rranged that Dolly was to live in the house
for a time. They would have been together in public, and Dolly agreed
eventually to let her go and get a quiet divorce--at a price. It sounds
revolting, but to me it seemed the only way."

George became aware of an ugly and distorted intruder upon his
happiness, yet Lambert was clearly right. Sylvia and Dalrymple,
impulsively joined together, were nothing to each other, couldn't even
resume their long friendship.

"Well?" George asked.

"Mother, Betty, and I talked it over with Sylvia," Lambert answered.
"You see, we've kept Father in ignorance so far. He's scarcely up to
such a row. Mother will make him wise very gently only when it becomes
necessary."

"But what did Sylvia say?" George demanded, bending toward Lambert, his
meal forgotten.

"Sylvia," Lambert replied, spreading his hands helplessly, "would agree
to nothing. In the first place, she wouldn't consent to Dolly's staying
in the house even to save appearances. I don't know what's the matter
with her. She worried us all. She wasn't hysterical exactly, but she
cried a good deal, which is quite unusual for her, and she
seemed--frightened. She wouldn't let any one go near her--even Mother. I
couldn't understand that."

George stared at the fire, his hands clasped. When at last he spoke he
scarcely heard his own voice:

"She will get a divorce--as soon as possible?"

Lambert emptied his glass and set it down.

"That's just it," he answered, gloomily. "She won't listen to anything
of the sort."

George glanced up.

"What is there left for her to do?"

Lambert frowned.

"Something seems to have changed her wholly. She declares she'll never
see Dolly again, and in the same breath talks about the church and a
horror of divorce, and the necessity of her suffering for her mistake;
and she wants to pay her debt to Dolly by giving him, instead of
herself, all of her money--a few such pleasant inconsistencies. See
here. Why didn't you run wild yesterday, or the day before?"

"Do you think," George asked, softly, "it would have been quite the same
thing, would have had quite the same effect?"

"I wonder," Lambert mused.

George arose and stood with his back to the fire.

"And of course," he said, thoughtfully, "you or I can't tell just what
the effect has been. See here, Lambert. I have to find that out. I must
see her once, if only for five minutes."

He watched Lambert, who didn't answer at first.

"I'