George experienced no fear, no impulse to release Sylvia. He was conscious merely of a sharp distaste that it should have turned out so, and a feeling of anger that Lambert was responsible through his failure to grant his request; but Lambert might have been shocked to forgetfulness by Dalrymple's announcement, or he might have had too sharp a doubt of George's intentions. Sylvia had become motionless, as if impressed by the futility of effort. In a moment would she cry out to Dalrymple just what he had done? He waited for her charge, her justification, while he continued to stare at Dalrymple's angry and unbelieving face which the gay flower in his button hole had an air of mocking. Dalrymple started forward. "You see that, Lambert----" Lambert, who must have been standing close behind him, walked into the room, as amazed as Dalrymple, nearly as shocked. "Sylvia!" George let Sylvia go. She sat down in the chair by the fireplace and looked straight ahead, her lips still half parted. Dalrymple hurried the length of the room and paused in front of her. "Be careful what you say, Dalrymple," George warned him. Dalrymple burst out: "You'll not tell me what to say. What's this mean, Sylvia? Speak up, or----" "Easy, Dolly," Lambert advised. George waited. Sylvia did not cry out. He relaxed, hearing her say uncertainly: "I don't know. I'm sorry. I----" She paused, looked down, commenced pulling at her gloves again with the self-absorbed gestures of a somnambulist. George's heart leapt. She had not accused him, had really said nothing, from her attitude wouldn't just yet. Dalrymple swung furiously on Lambert. "God! Am I to believe my eyes? Pretends to despise him, and I find her in his arms!" Sylvia glanced up once then, her face crimson, her lips trembling, then she resumed her blank scrutiny of her gloves at which she still pulled. George stepped swiftly forward, fancying Dalrymple was going to threaten her with his hands. "Why don't you talk up?" Dalrymple cried. "What you got to say? Don't see there's much? Never would have dreamed it of you. What a scandal!" "Morton," Lambert said with a leashed fury in his quiet voice, "no one but you could have done this. Leave us alone now to see what we can make of it." George laughed shortly. "All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't budge me just yet. And I'll tell you what we'll make of it. Just what she wishes." "Keep your mouth shut," Dalrymple said, shrilly. "You won't go. We'll go. Sylvia! Come with me. We'll talk it out alone." She shrank back in her chair, grasped its arms, looked up startled, shaking her head. "I can't go anywhere with you, Dolly," she said in a wondering voice. "What you mean? You came to church right enough with me this afternoon. Don't you forget that." She nodded. "It was wrong of me," she whispered. "I lost my temper. I didn't know at all----" "How did you find out?" Dalrymple sneered. "From him? But you're my wife. Come away with me----"