say to Lambert, too; so he
glanced about the room and was grateful that, except for the servants,
it held only some elderly men he had never seen before, who sat at a
distance, gossiping and laughing.

"Where," Lambert asked, "will I run into you next?"

"Anywhere," George said. "Whenever we're both invited to the same place.
I didn't come without being asked, so my being here isn't funny."

Lambert walked around and sat down. All the irony had left his face. He
had an air of doubtful disapproval.

"Maybe not funny," he said, "but--odd."

George stirred. How long would the music and the laughter continue to
drift in?

"Why?"

"You've travelled a long way," Lambert mused. "I wonder if in football
clothes men don't look too much of a pattern. I wonder if you haven't
let yourself be carried a little too far."

"Why?" George asked again.

"Princeton and football," Lambert went on, "are well enough in their
way; but when you come to a place like this and dance with those girls
who don't know, it seems scarcely fair. Of course, if they knew, and
wanted you still--that's the whole point."

"They wouldn't," George admitted, "but why should they matter if the
people that count know?"

Lambert glanced at him. Was the music's quicker measure prophetic of the
end?

"What do you mean?" Lambert asked.

"What you said last fall has worried me," George answered. "That's the
reason I came here--so that your sister would know me from Adam. She
does, and she can do what she pleases about it. It's in her hands now."

Lambert reddened.

"You've the nerve of the devil," he said, angrily. "You had no business
to speak to my sister. The whole thing had been forgotten."

George shook his head.

"You hadn't forgotten it. She told me that day that I shouldn't forget.
I hadn't forgotten it. I never will."

"I can't talk about it," Lambert said.

He looked squarely at George.

"Here's what puts your being here out of shape: You're ashamed of what
you were. Aren't you?"

"I've always thought," George said, "you were man enough to realize it's
only what I am and may become that counts. I wouldn't say ashamed. I'm
sorry, because it makes what I'm doing just that much harder; because
you, for instance, know about it, and might cause trouble."

Lambert made no difficulty about the implied question.

"I don't want to risk causing trouble for any one unjustly. It's up to
you not to make me. But don't bother my sister again.