The Guarded Heights Part 49

"You've just remarked," she laughed, softly, "that rumours seldom materialize."

What did she mean by that? Before he could go after an answer Mrs.

Sinclair came down, joined them, and explained that Sylvia was tired and didn't want any one bothered. George's exaltation increased. He hoped he had hurt her, as he had always wanted to. Blodgett, accompanied by Wandel and Dalrymple, wandered from the smoking-room, seeking news.

George felt every muscle tighten, for Blodgett, at sight of Mrs.

Sinclair, roared:

"Where is Sylvia?"

The gross familiarity held him momentarily convinced, then he remembered that Blodgett was eager to make progress with such people, quick to s.n.a.t.c.h at every advantage. Sylvia wasn't here to rebuke him.

Under the circ.u.mstances, the others couldn't very well. As a matter of fact, they appeared to notice nothing. Of course it wasn't Blodgett.

"In her room with a headache," Mrs. Sinclair answered. "She may come down later."

"Headaches," Wandel said, "cover a mult.i.tude of whims."

George didn't like his tone. Wandel always gave you the impression of a vision subtle and disconcerting.

Dalrymple, in spite of his confused state, was caught rattling off questions at Mrs. Sinclair, too full of concern, while George watched him, wondering--wondering.

"Must have her own way," Blodgett interrupted. "Bridge! Let's cut in or make another table. George?"

George and Betty shook their heads, so Blodgett, with that air of a showman leading his spectators to some fresh surprise, hurried the others away. George didn't attempt to hide his distaste. He stared at the fire. Hang Blodgett and his familiarities!

"What are you thinking about, George?"

"Would you have come here, Betty, of your own wish?"

"Why not?"

"Blodgett."

"What about the old dear?"

George started, turned, and looked full at her. There was no question.

She meant it, and earlier in the evening Lambert had said nearly any girl would marry Blodgett. What had become of his own judgment? He felt the necessity of defending it.

"He's too precious happy to have people like you in his house. You know perfectly well he hasn't always been able to do it."

"Isn't that why everyone likes him," she asked, "because he's so completely unaffected?"

George understood he was on thin ice. He didn't deviate.

"You mean he's all the more admirable because he hasn't plastered himself with veneer?"

Her white cheeks flushed. She was as nearly angry as he had ever seen 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 distinguished company. Wandel loitered, too, and was unusually flushed, refilling his gla.s.s rather often. Lambert, Blodgett, and he were at a final game of billiards.

"You've been with Dalrymple all evening," George said, significantly, to Wandel.

"My dear George," Wandel answered, easily, "I observe the habits of my fellow creatures. Be they good or bad I venture not to interfere."

"An easy creed," George said. "You're not your brother's keeper."