"See here! I'm not going to limp like this always."
Bailly encircled him with his thin arms.
"You're too old to play football, anyway, George."
George found himself wanting Betty's arms, their forgetfulness, their understanding, their tenderness.
"When are you two going to be married?" he forced himself to ask.
Betty looked away, her white cheeks flushing, but Lambert hurried an answer.
"As soon as you're able to get to Princeton. You're to be best man."
"Honoured."
So Lambert's crippling hadn't made any difference to Betty, but how did Sylvia take it? He wanted to ask Lambert where she was, if anything had happened to her, any other mad affair, now that the war was over, like the one with Blodgett; but he couldn't ask, and no one volunteered to tell him, and it wasn't until his visit to Oakmont, on his first leave from the hospital, that he learned anything whatever about her, and that was only what his eyes in a moment told him.
Lambert drove over and got George, explaining that his mother wanted to see him.