One spring day, quite without warning, he appeared in George's office. It was not long after the Planters' return to Oakmont. What did he want here? Was there any point spending money on him as matters stood? He looked at Dalrymple, a good deal surprised, reading the dissipation recorded in his face, the nervousness exposed by the mobile hands. All at once he understood why he had come at last. Dalrymple had wandered too far. The patience of his friends had been exhausted. Perhaps Wandel had taken George's hint. At any rate, he had let himself in for it. "An opportunity to make a little money," Dalrymple was mumbling uneasily. "Need capital. Not much. You said at Blodgett's--just happened to remember it, and was near----" "How much?" George demanded, stopping his feeble lies. Dalrymple, George suspected, because of his manner, asked for less than half what he had come to get. "What say to a couple thousand? Make it five hundred more if you can. Not much in the way of security." "Never mind the security." George pressed a button, and directed the clerk who responded to draw up a note. "Got to sign something?" Dalrymple asked, suspiciously. George smiled. "Do you mind my keeping a little record of where my money goes--in place of security?" Dalrymple was quite red. "All right, if you insist." "I insist. Care to change your mind?" "No. Only thought it was just a little loan between--friends." The word left his tongue with difficulty. George guessed that the other retained enough decency to loathe himself for having to use it. The nervousness of the long fingers increased while the clerk prepared the note and George wrote the check. George put a pen in the unsteady hand. "Sign here, please." Dalrymple obeyed with a signature, shaky, barely legible. "Nice of you to do me a favour. Appreciate it. Thanks." To George it would have been worth that money to find out just how Sylvia's extended engagement had affected Dalrymple. Was it responsible for his speeding up on the dangerous path of pleasure? Of that he could learn only what the other chose to disclose, probably nothing. But what was he waiting for now that he had the money? Why were his fingers twitching faster than ever? "Didn't see Lambert when I came in," he managed. "I daresay he's about," George said. "Want him?" Dalrymple raised his hand. "That's just it," he whispered. "Rather not see Lambert. Rather this little transaction were kept sub rosa. You understand. No point Lambert's knowing." "Why not?" George asked, coolly, feeling himself on the edge of the truth. "I'm a little off the Planters," Dalrymple said. "Since when?" Dalrymple's face became redder than ever. For a moment his nervousness abandoned him. He seemed to stiffen with violent thoughts. "Don't like buying and selling of women in any family. Not as decent as slavery." George rose quietly. He hadn't expected just this. "Be careful," he warned. "What are you talking about?"