As July sped on Homer Conrad's visits to Golden grew more and more frequent. When Curtis returned from his northern journey, still ignorant of Delafield's identity, Homer was greatly relieved, and tried once more to dissuade his brother. "Anyway, Curt," he urged, "don't do anything more about it now. Let it rest a while, and think about it more coolly and carefully; you'll see how foolish it is if you do that." As Curtis did not mention the subject again, he concluded that his advice had been taken and that there was no reason for immediate anxiety. His mind at rest on that score, he devoted himself more than ever to Lucy Bancroft. He talked of her so much to his brother that Curtis soon saw how complete was his absorption. "I guess they're hitting it off together all right," he concluded. Curtis Conrad tried to accustom himself to the idea of Lucy as his brother's wife. It cost him many a painful twinge, and once the rebellious thought came into his mind, "If it hadn't been for the Delafield affair I might--" But a little shock, as if he had fallen away from some ideal or been guilty of an irreverence, stopped the notion. Now and then, too, he had misgivings as to what Lucy would think of him if she knew. He shrank from the feeling that her condemnation would be as unsparing as his brother's, with more of horror and disgust. For the first time he began to think about what might lie beyond that longed-for meeting with Delafield. One day, musing upon Homer and Lucy, he had a sudden vision of himself as a commiserated kinsman, and smiled grimly as he reflected, "It might be a good thing for them if I got my quietus in the scrimmage."