hen he climbed in beside
her; nor did he try to break a silence that he felt was curative. In the
light and surrounded by a crowd they could clasp hands; in this obscure
solitude there was nothing they could do or say. Only on the steps of
her home she spoke.

"Good-night, George, and thank you."

"Good-night, dear Sylvia," he said, and returned to the automobile, and
told the man to drive him to his apartment.

XXIX

George didn't hear from Dalrymple again, nor did he expect to, but he
was quite aware five days later of Goodhue's absence from the office and
of his black clothing when he came in during the late afternoon. He
didn't need Goodhue's few words.

"It's hard not to feel sorry, to believe, on the whole, it's rather
better. Still, when any familiar object is unexpectedly snatched away
from one----"

"We had a talk the other evening," George began.

Goodhue's face lighted.

"I'm glad, George."

He sighed.

"I've got to try to catch up. Mundy says rails have taken a queer turn."

"When you think for a minute not so queer," George commenced to explain.

A few days later Lambert told him that Sylvia had gone to Florida.

"They'll probably stay until late in the spring. It agrees with Father."

"How did Sylvia seem?" George asked, anxiously.

"Wait awhile," Lambert advised, "but I don't think there are going to be
any spectres."

He smiled engagingly.

"If there shouldn't be," he went on, "a few matters will have to be
arranged, because Sylvia and I share alike. Josiah and I had a long,
careful talk with Father last night about what we'd do with Sylvia's
husband if she married. He left it to my judgment, advising that we
might take him in if he were worth his salt. Josiah wanted to know with
his bull voice what Father would think if it should turn out to be you.
Very seriously, George, Father was pleased. He pointed out that you were
a man who made things go, but that you would end by running us all, and
he added that if we wanted that we would be lucky to get you as long as
it made Sylvia happy. You know we want you, George."

George felt as he had that day on the Vesle when Wandel had praised him.
No longer could Lambert charge him with having fulfilled his boasts, in
a way; yet he hadn't consciously wanted this, nor was he quite sure that
he did now.

"At least," George said, "you know what my policy would be to make
Planter and Company something more than a money making machine."

La