XVI
At least George wouldn't have to decide at once. When it became clear that for the present Mrs. Alston's optimism was justified he breathed easier. With Goodhue, Lambert, and Mundy he applied himself unreservedly to his work. Consequently he didn't visit much, didn't see Sylvia again until the fall when he met her at a dinner at the Goodhues'. She shrank from him perceptibly, but there was no escape. He studied her with an easier mind. No date for her wedding had been set. Until that moment should come there was nothing he could do. What he would be able to accomplish then was problematical. Something. She shouldn't throw herself away on Blodgett.
"It must be comforting," he heard her say to Goodhue, "to know if trouble comes your wonderful firm will be taken care of."
George guessed she had meant him to hear that.
"I'm sure I hope so," Goodhue answered her, "but what do you mean?"
"I heard Mr. Morton say once he didn't think he'd care to go to war. Didn't I, Mr. Morton?"
Goodhue, clearly puzzled by her manner, laughed.
"Give us something more useful, Sylvia. He's a born fighter."
"I believe I said it," George answered her. "There might be problems here I couldn't very well desert."
Her eyes wavered. He recalled her hysterical manner that evening at Oakmont. She still sought chances to hurt him. In spite of Blodgett, then, she recognized a state of contest between them. He smiled contentedly, for as long as that persisted his cause was alive.