"Somebody should have shut him up," George cried. "We did, with difficulty, and not all at once," Wandel protested. "Dicky's taken him home with the aid of a pair of grinning hyenas. They did make one think of that." "It's not to be borne," George muttered. "He ought to be killed." "By all means, my dear George," Wandel agreed, "but we're back in New York. I mean, with the armistice murder ceased to be praiseworthy. They're punishing it in the usual fashion. You quite understand that, George?" George tried to laugh. "Quite. Go ahead." "He really had some excuse," Wandel went on, "because when he first came in no one realized how bad he was--and they jumped him with congratulations and humour, and he went right out of his head--became stark, raving mad; or drunk, as you choose." "What did he say?" George asked, softly. Wandel half closed his eyes. "Don't expect me to repeat any such crazy, disconnected stuff. It's enough that he let everybody guess Sylvia had sold him at the very moment he had fancied he had bought her. I've been thinking it over, and I'm not sure it isn't just as well he did. Everybody will talk his head off for a few days and drop it. Otherwise, curious things would have been noticed and suspected from time to time, and the talk, with fresh impetus, would have gone on forever. Besides, nobody's looking for much trouble with the Planters." George had difficulty with his next question. "He--he didn't mention me?" "Why, yes," Wandel answered, gravely, "but rather incoherently." "Rotten of him!" "No direct accusations," Wandel hurried on, "just vile temper; and while it makes it temporarily more unpleasant that's just as well, too. The fact that people know what to expect kills more talk later. I suppose she'll manage a fairly quiet divorce." "Won't listen to it," George snapped. "How stupid of me!" Wandel drawled. "Of course she wouldn't." He sighed. "I mean to sympathize with you, my George, but all the time I envy you, and have to restrain myself from offering congratulations. Behold the oysters! They're really very good here." George tried to smile. "Then shall we talk about shell fish?" "Bivalves, George. Or we might discuss the great strike. Which one? Take your choice. Or, by the way, have you received your shock yet? They're raising rents in our house more than a hundred per cent." "The hell after war!" George grinned. Wandel smiled back. "Let us hope not a milestone on the road." XXIV Through pure will George resumed his routine, but it no longer had the power to capture him, becoming a drudgery without a clear purpose. Always he was conscious of the effort to force himself from recollection and imagination, to drive Sylvia from his mind; and, even so, he never quite succeeded. Were there then no heights beyond?