rse. Dalrymple did, yet she preferred him,
perhaps to the point of making a gift of herself. He had avoided even
those more legitimate pleasures of which the dice had appealed to him as
a type. What was the use of it? Why had he done it? Yet even now, and
still because of her, when you came to that, he had no desire to turn
aside to the brighter places where plumed creatures flutter fatefully.
It was a species of tragedy that he had to keep himself for one who
didn't want him.

It stared at him at breakfast from the page of a newspaper. It was
amazing that the journal saw nothing grotesque in such a union; found
it, to the contrary, sensible and beneficial, not only to the persons
involved, but to the entire country.

Planter, the article pointed out, was no longer capable of bringing a
resistless energy to his house which was a notable stone in the
country's financial structure. Should any chance weaken that the entire
building would react. His son was at present too young and inexperienced
to watch that stone, to keep it intact. Later, of course--but one had to
consider the present. To be sure there were partners, but after the
fashion of great egoists Mr. Planter had avoided admitting any
outstanding personality to his firm. It was a happy circumstance that
Cupid, and so forth--for the senior partner of Blodgett and Sinclair was
more than an outstanding personality in Wall Street. Some of his recent
achievements were comparable with Mr. Planter's earlier ones. The
dissolution of his firm and his induction into the house of Planter and
Company were prophesied.

George continued to eat his breakfast mechanically. At least it wasn't
Dalrymple, yet that resolution would have been less astonishing. Josiah
Blodgett, fat, middle-aged, of no family, married to the beautiful and
brilliant Sylvia Planter! But was it grotesque? Wasn't the paper right?
He had had plenty of proof that his own judgment of Blodgett was
worthless. He crumpled the paper in his hand and stood up. His judgment
was worth this: he was willing to swear Sylvia Planter didn't love the
man she had elected to marry.

What did other people think?

Wandel was at hand. George stopped on his way out. The little man was
still in bed, sipping coffee while he, too, studied that disturbing
page; yet, when he had sent his man from the room, he didn't appear to
find about it anything extraordinary.

"Good business all round," he commented, "although I must admit