ll not run wild again," he promised. "If she'd only agree--just five
minutes' talk."

"I told you," Lambert said at last, "she wouldn't mention your name or
let any one else; but, on the theory that you are really responsible for
what's happened, I'd like you to see her. You might persuade her that a
divorce is absolutely necessary, the only way out. You might get her to
understand that she can't go through life tied to a man she'll never
see, while people will talk many times more than if she took a train
quietly west."

"If she'll see me," George said, "I'll try to make it plain to her."

"Betty has a scheme----" Lambert began, and wouldn't grow more explicit
beyond saying, "Betty'll probably let you hear from her in the morning.
That's the reason I wanted you to know how things stand. I'm hurrying
back now to our confused house."

George followed him to the door.

"Dalrymple--where is he?" he asked.

"Gone to his parents. He'll try to play the game for the present."

"At a price," George said.

Lambert nodded.

"Rather well-earned, too, on the whole," he answered, ironically.

XIX

George slept little that night. The fact that Lambert believed him
responsible for the transformation in Sylvia was sufficiently exciting.
In Sylvia's manner her brother must have read something he had not quite
expressed to George. And why wouldn't she mention him? Why couldn't she
bear to have the others mention him? With his head bowed on his hands he
sat before the desk, staring at the diminishing fire, and in this
posture he fell at last asleep to be startled by Wandel who had not
troubled to have himself announced. The fire was quite dead. In the
bright daylight streaming into the room George saw that the little man
held a newspaper in his hand.

"Is it a habit of great men not to go to bed?"

George stood up and stretched. He indicated the newspaper.

"You've come with the evil tidings?"

"About Sylvia and Dolly," Wandel began.

George yawned.

"I must bathe and become presentable, for this is another day."

"You've already seen it?" Wandel asked, a trifle puzzled.

"No, but what else should there be in the paper?"

Wandel stared for a moment, then carefully folded the paper and tossed
it in the fireplace.

"Nothing much," he answered, lighting a cigarette, "except hold-ups,
murders, new strikes, fresh battles among our brethren of the Near
East--nothing of the slightest consequence. By by. Make yourse