"I caught your warning," George answered, "and I acted on it as far as I could. I couldn't dream, knowing her, of a runaway marriage, and I'll guarantee you didn't, either."
"I once pointed out to you," Wandel objected, "that she was the impulsive sort who would fly to some man—only I fancied then it would ultimately be you."
"Why, Driggs?"
Wandel put his hand on George's knee.
"You don't mind my saying this? A long time ago I guessed she loved you. Even as far back as Betty's début, when I danced with her right after you two had had some kind of a rumpus, I saw she was a bundle of emotion and despised herself for it. Of course I hadn't observed then all that I have since."
"Why did you never warn me of that?" George asked.
Wandel laughed lightly.
"What absurd questions you ask! Because, being well acquainted with Sylvia, I couldn't see how she was to be made to realize she cared for you."
George crumbled a piece of bread.
"I daresay," he muttered, "you know everything that's happened. It's extraordinary the way you find out things—things you're not supposed to know at all."