The others drifted away. George tried to read in the library. His uneasiness, his anger, held him from bed. When at last he went upstairs he fancied everyone was asleep, but moving in the hall outside his room he saw a figure in a dressing gown. It paused as if it didn't care to be detected going in the direction of the stairs. George caught the figure's embarrassed hesitation, fancied a movement of retreat. "Dalrymple!" he called, softly. The other waited sullenly. "What you up to?" George asked. "Thought I'd explore downstairs for a book. Couldn't sleep. Nothing in my room worth bothering with." George smiled, the memory of Blodgett's admirable behaviour crowding his mind. What better time than now to let his anger dictate to him, as it had done that day in his office? "Come in for a minute," he proposed to Dalrymple, and opened his door. Dalrymple shook his head, but George took his arm and led him, guessing that Dalrymple feared the subject of the notes. "Bad humour!" George said. "You seem to be the only one up. I don't mind chatting with you before turning in. Fact is, these wedding parties are stupid, don't you think?" Possibly George's manner was reassuring to Dalrymple. At any rate, he yielded. George took off his coat, sat in an easy chair, and pressed the call button. "What's that for?" Dalrymple asked, uneasily. "Sit down," George said. "Stupid and dry, these things! I'm going to try to raise a servant. I want to gossip over a drink before I go to bed. You'll join me?" Dalrymple sat down. He moistened his lips. "On the wagon," he muttered. "A long time on the wagon. Place to be, too, and all that." George didn't believe the other. If Dalrymple cared to prove him right that was his own business. "Before prohibition offers the steps?" he laughed. "Nothing to do with it," Dalrymple muttered. "Got my reasons--good enough ones, too." "Right!" George said. "Only don't leave me to myself until I've wet my whistle." And when the sleepy servant had come George asked him for some whiskey and soda water. He talked of the Alstons, of the war, of anything to tide the wait for the caraffe and the bottles and glasses; and during that period Dalrymple's restlessness increased. Just what had he been sneaking downstairs for in the middle of the night? George watched the other's eyes drawn by the tray when the servant had set it down. "Why did he bring two glasses?" Dalrymple asked, irritably. "Oh," George said, carelessly, "I suppose he thought--naturally----Have a biscuit, anyway." George poured a drink and supped contentedly. "Dry rations--biscuits," Dalrymple complained. He fingered the caraffe. "I've an idea--wedding--special occasion, and all that. Change my mind--up here--one friendly drop----"