"After all," Wandel said, slowly, "why do we cling to the suggestion of Dolly? Although I fancy he does figure--somewhere in the odds." For a time George said nothing. He was quite convinced that Wandel had meant to warn him, and he had received that warning, straight and hard and painfully. During several weeks he hadn't seen Dalrymple, had been lulled into a sense of security, perhaps through the turmoil down town; and Lambert and Betty had lingered beyond their announced month. Clearly Wandel had sounded George's chief aim, as he had once satisfied himself of his origin; and just now had meant to say that since his return he had witnessed enough to be convinced that Dalrymple was still after Sylvia, and with a chance of success. To George that meant that Dalrymple had broken the bargain. He felt himself drawn irresistibly back to his narrow, absorbing pursuit. "You're becoming a hermit," Wandel was saying. "You've become a butterfly," George countered. "Ah," Wandel answered, "but the butterfly can touch with its wings the beautiful Sylvia Planter, and out of its eyes can watch her debutante frivolities. Why not come away with me Friday?" "Whither?" "To the Sinclairs." George got up and wandered to the door. "By by, Driggs. I think I might slip off Friday. I've a mind to renounce the veil." XIII George fulfilled his resolution thoroughly. With the migratory bachelors he ran from house to house, found Sylvia or not, and so thought the effort worth while or not. The first time he saw her, indeed, he appreciated Wandel's wisdom, for she stood with Dalrymple at the edge of a high lawn that looked out over the sea. Her hair in the breeze was a little astray, her cheeks were flushed, and she bent if anything toward her companion who talked earnestly and with nervous gestures. George crushed his quick impulse to go down, to step between them, to have it out with Dalrymple then and there, even in Sylvia's presence; but they strolled back to the house almost immediately, and Sylvia lost her apparent good humour, and Dalrymple descended from satisfaction to a fidgety apprehension. Sylvia met George's hand briefly. "You'll be here long?" The question expressed a wish. "Only until Monday. I wish it might be longer, for I'm glad to find you--and you, Dalrymple." "Nobody said you were expected," Dalrymple grumbled. "Everybody said you were working like a horse." George glanced at Sylvia, smiling blandly. "Every horse goes to grass occasionally." He turned back to Dalrymple. "I daresay you know Lambert and Betty are due back the first of the week?" Sylvia nodded carelessly, and started along the verandah. Dalrymple, reddening, prepared to heel, but George beckoned him back. "I'd like a word with you." Sylvia glanced around, probably surprised at the sharp, authoritative tone. "Just a minute, Sylvia," Dalrymple apologized uneasily. "Little business. Hard to catch Morton. Must grasp opportunity, and all that."