Sylvia nodded carelessly, and started along the verandah. Dalrymple, reddening, prepared to heel, but George beckoned him back.
"I'd like a word with you."
Sylvia glanced around, probably surprised at the sharp, authoritative tone.
"Just a minute, Sylvia," Dalrymple apologized uneasily. "Little business. Hard to catch Morton. Must grasp opportunity, and all that."
And when they were alone he went close to George eagerly.
"No need to wait for Betty and Lambert, Morton. It's done. Dolly's got himself thrown over——"
"I don't believe you," George said.
"Why not?"
"What are you doing here?" George asked. "It was understood you should avoid her."
Dalrymple's grin was sickly.