ionally
pleasant to the ladies."

"Yet he couldn't marry any one of mine," George said under his breath.
"If I had a sister, I mean, I'd somehow stop him."

Wandel laughed on a sharp note, caught himself, went on with an amused
tone:

"Forgive me, George. Somewhere in your pockets you carry the Pilgrim
Fathers. Most men are shaggy birds of evil habit, while most young women
are delicately feathered nestlings, and quite helpless; yet the two must
mate. Dolly, by the way, drains a pitcher of water every time he sees a
violation of prohibition."

"He drinks in sly places," George said.

"After all," Wandel said, slowly, "why do we cling to the suggestion of
Dolly? Although I fancy he does figure--somewhere in the odds."

For a time George said nothing. He was quite convinced that Wandel had
meant to warn him, and he had received that warning, straight and hard
and painfully. During several weeks he hadn't seen Dalrymple, had been
lulled into a sense of security, perhaps through the turmoil down town;
and Lambert and Betty had lingered beyond their announced month. Clearly
Wandel had sounded George's chief aim, as he had once satisfied himself
of his origin; and just now had meant to say that since his return he
had witnessed enough to be convinced that Dalrymple was still after
Sylvia, and with a chance of success. To George that meant that
Dalrymple had broken the bargain. He felt himself drawn irresistibly
back to his narrow, absorbing pursuit.

"You're becoming a hermit," Wandel was saying.

"You've become a butterfly," George countered.

"Ah," Wandel answered, "but the butterfly can touch with its wings the
beautiful Sylvia Planter, and out of its eyes can watch her debutante
frivolities. Why not come away with me Friday?"

"Whither?"

"To the Sinclairs."

George got up and wandered to the door.

"By by, Driggs. I think I might slip off Friday. I've a mind to renounce
the veil."

XIII

George fulfilled his resolution thoroughly. With the migratory bachelors
he ran from house to house, found Sylvia or not, and so thought the
effort worth while or not. The first time he saw her, indeed, he
appreciated Wandel's wisdom, for she stood with Dalrymple at the edge of
a high lawn that looked out over the sea. Her hair in the breeze was a
little astray, her cheeks were flushed, and she bent if anything toward
her companion who talked earnestly and with nervous gestures. George
crushed his quick impulse to