The Guarded Heights Part 94

Beyond question Dalrymple saw him, and pretended that he didn't.

Heartily glad of that, George joined a group about the fireplace, and after a few minutes saw Dalrymple rise and wander unevenly from the room.

George met him several times afterward under similar circ.u.mstances, and always Dalrymple shortly disappeared, because, George thought, of his arrival; but other people tactfully put him straight. Dalrymple, it seemed, remained in no public place for long, as if there was something evilly secretive to call him perpetually away.

Wandel told him toward the end of the month that Dalrymple was about to make a trip to Havana for the remainder of the winter.

"Where there's horse-racing, gambling, and unlimited alcohol--where one may sin in public. Why talk about it? Although he doesn't mean to, George, he's in a fair way of doing you a favour."

But George didn't dream how close Dalrymple's offering was. His first thought, indeed, was for Sylvia when the influenza epidemic of January and February promised for a time to equal its previous ugly record.

Lambert tried to laugh his worry away.

"She's going south with father and mother very soon. Anyway, she hasn't the habit of catching things."

And it was Lambert a day or two later who brought him the first indication of the only way out, and he tried to tell himself he mustn't want it. Even though he had always despised Dalrymple and his weakness, even though Dalrymple stood between him and his only possible happiness, he experienced a disagreeable and reluctant sense of danger in such a solution.

"All his life," Lambert was saying, "Dolly's done everything he could to make himself a victim."

"Where is he?" George asked.

"At his home. It's fortunate he hadn't started south."

"Or," George said, "he should have started sooner."

"I've an uncomfortable feeling," Lambert mused, "that he was planning to run away from this very chance. Put it off a little too long. Seems he went to bed four days ago. I didn't know until to-day because you see he's been a little outcast since that scene in the club. He sent for me this afternoon, and, curiously enough, asked for you. Will you go up? I really think you'd better."

But George shrank from the thought.

"I don't want to be scolded by a man who is possibly dying."

"Let's hope not," Lambert said. "You'll go. Around five o'clock."

George hesitated.

"Did he ask for Sylvia?"

"He didn't ask me, but I telephoned her."

"Why?" George asked, sharply.

"Every card on the table now, George!" Lambert warned. "We have to think of the future, in case----"

"Of course, you're right," George answered. "I'm sorry, and I'll go."

When he entered the Dalrymple house at five o'clock he came face to face with Sylvia in the hall. He had never seen her so controlled, and her quiet tensity frightened him.

"Lambert told me," she whispered, "you were coming now. Dolly hasn't asked for me, but I'd feel so much better--if things should turn out badly, for I'm thinking with all my heart of the boy I used to be so fond of, and it's, perhaps, my fault----"

"It is not your fault," George cried. "He's always asked for it. Lambert will tell you that."

George relaxed. Dalrymple's mother came down the stairs with the doctor, and George experienced a quick sympathy for the retiring, elderly woman he had scarcely seen before. She gave Sylvia her hand, while George stepped out with the physician. In reply to George's questions the quiet man shook his head and frowned.

"If it were any one else of the same age--I've attended in this house many years, Mr. Morton, and I've watched him since he was a child. I've marvelled how he's got so far."

He added brutally:

"Scarcely a chance with the turn its taking."

"If there's anything," George muttered, "any great specialist anywhere----Understand money doesn't figure----"

"Everything possible is being done, Mr. Morton. I'm truly sorry, but I can tell you it's quite his own fault."

So even this cold-blooded pract.i.tioner had heard the talk, and sympathized, and not with Dalrymple. A trifle dazed George reentered the house.

"It's good of you to come, Mr. Morton," Mrs. Dalrymple said. "Shall we go upstairs now?"

There was no bitterness in her voice, and she had taken Sylvia's hand, yet undoubtedly she knew everything. Abruptly George felt sorrier for Dalrymple than he had ever done.

"Please wait, Sylvia," she said.

He followed Mrs. Dalrymple upstairs and into the sick-room.

"It's Mr. Morton, dear."

She beckoned to the nurse, and George remained in the room alone with the feverish man in the bed. He walked over and took the hot hand.

"Morton!" came Dalrymple's hoa.r.s.e voice, "I believe you're sorry for me!"

"I am sorry," George said, quietly, "and you must get well."

Dalrymple shook his head.

"I know all the dope, and I guess I'm off in a few days. Not so bad now I can't talk a little and sorta clean one or two things up. No silly deathbed repentance. I'm jealous of you, Morton; always have been, because you were getting things I couldn't, and I figured from the first you were an outsider."

The dry lips smiled a little.

"When you get like this it makes a lot of difference, doesn't it, how you came into the world? I'll be the real outsider in a few days----"

"Don't talk that way."

A quick temper distorted Dalrymple's face.

"They oughtn't to bring a man into the world as I was brought, without money."

George couldn't think of anything to say, but Dalrymple hurried on:

"I wanted to thank you for the notes. Don't have to leave those to my family, anyway. And I'm not sure hadn't better apologize all 'round. I don't forget I've had raw deal--lots of ways; but no point not saying Sylvia had pretty raw one from Dolly. Lucky escape for her--mean Dolly's not domestic animal, and all that."

George was aware of a slight shiver as Dalrymple's hoa.r.s.e voice slipped into its old, not quite controlled mannerisms.