"No objections to amusing you," Dalrymple mocked. "Lambert interfered last night, and spoiled his own game by dragging you in. By gad, she has got it in for you! Don't see why you ever thought----Anyway, she agreed right enough then, and I didn't need to explain it was wiser, seeing how Lambert felt about it, and her father, and you, of all people, to get the thing over without any brass bands. Had a bit of luck ducking the reporters at the license bureau. Tied the knot half an hour ago. She's gone home to break the glad news." He grinned. "But I thought it only decent to jump the subway and tell you your filthy money's all right and that you can plant a tombstone on your pound of flesh." He laughed again. In George's brain the echoes of Dalrymple's triumph reverberated more and more intelligibly. Little by little during the recital his slumped attitude had altered. "In a way! In a way! In a way!" had sung through his brain, deriding him. Then, as he had listened, had flashed the question: "Is it really too late?" And he had recalled his old determination that nothing--not even this--should bar the road to his pursuit. So, at the close of Dalrymple's explanation, he was straight in his chair, his hands grasping the arms, every muscle, every nerve, stretched tight, and in his brain, overcoming the boisterous resonance of Dalrymple's mirth, rang his old purposeful refrain: "I will! I will! I will!" Dalrymple had married her, but it wasn't too late yet. "Jealous old fellow!" Dalrymple chaffed. "No congratulations for Dolly. Blow up about your notes any time you please. I'll see they're paid." He took up his hat and stick. "Want to run along now and break the news to brother-in-law. Sure to find him. He's a late bird." George stood up. "Wait a minute," he said, quietly. "Got to say you've put one over, Dalrymple. It was crooked, but it's done. You've settled it, haven't you?" "Glad you take it reasonably," Dalrymple laughed, turning for the door. "Wait a minute," George repeated. Dalrymple paused, apparently surprised at the tone, even and colourless. "Lambert's somewheres about the place," George explained. "Just stay here, and I'll find him and send him in." "Good business!" Dalrymple agreed, sitting down. "Through all the sooner." He smiled. "A little anxious to get home to my wife." George tried to close his ears. He didn't dare look at the other. He hurried out, closed the door, and went to Goodhue's office. At sight of him Lambert sprang from his chair as if startled by an unforeseen record of catastrophe. "What's happened?" "Dalrymple's in my room," George answered without any expression. "He wants to see you. He'll tell you all about it." He raised his hands, putting a stop to Lambert's alarmed questions. "Can't wait. Do just one thing for me. Give me half an hour. Keep Dalrymple here for half an hour." Still Lambert cried for reasons. "Never mind why. You ought to interest each other for that long."