her.

"I thought you'd never go back to that," she said. "Didn't I make it
clear any mention of it in the first place was quite unnecessary?"

"I thought you had a reproof for me, Betty. You don't suppose I ever
forget what I've had to do, what I still have to accomplish."

She half stretched out her hand.

"Why do you try to quarrel with me, George?"

"I wouldn't for the world," he denied, warmly.

"But you do. I told you once you were different. You shouldn't compare
yourself with Mr. Blodgett or any one. What you set out for you always
get."

He smiled a little. She was right, and he must never lose his sense of
will, his confidence of success.

She started to speak, then hesitated. She wouldn't meet his glance.

"Why," she asked, "did you tell me that night?"

"Because," he answered, uncomfortably, "you were too good a friend to
impose upon. I had to give you an opportunity to drive me away."

"I didn't take it," she said, quickly, "yet you went as thoroughly as if
I had."

She spread her hands.

"You make me feel as if I'd done something awkward to you. It isn't
fair."

Smiling wistfully, he touched her hand.

"Don't talk that way. Don't let us ever quarrel, Betty. You've never
meant anything but kindness to me. I'd like to feel there's always a
little kindness for me in your heart."

Her long lashes lowered slowly over her eyes.

"There is. There always will be, George."

X

For some time after Betty had left him George remained staring at the
fire. The chatter and the intermittent banging of the piano made him
long for quiet; but it was good discipline to stay downstairs, and Mrs.
Sinclair had said Sylvia might show herself later. So he waited,
struggling with his old doubt, asking himself if he had actually
acquired anything genuine except his money.

Later he wandered again from room to room, seeking Sylvia, but she
didn't appear, and he couldn't understand her failure. Had it any
meaning for him? Why, for that matter, should she strike him before any
other knew of the weapon in her hand? From time to time Dalrymple
expressed a maudlin concern for her, and George's uncertainty increased.
If it should turn out to be Dalrymple, he told himself hotly, he would
be capable of killing.

The young man quite fulfilled his promise of the early evening. Long
after the last of the women had retired he remained in the smoking-room.
Rogers abetted him, glad, doubtless, to be sportive in such