"But my dear sir, Cynthia and I are very fond of each other—"
"I don't give a damn if you are!" Meyrick fumed. "This is the last straw. I'm through with you. Good night, and good-by."
He stamped out as he had come, and Lord Harrowby fell limply into a chair.
"All over, and all done," he moaned.
"And Jephson loses," said Minot with mixed emotions.
"Yes—I'm sorry." Harrowby shook his head tragically. "Sorrier than you are, old chap. I love Cynthia Meyrick—really I do. This is a bit of a blow."
"Come, come!" cried Mr. Huntley. "I'm not going to miss that train while you play-act. We've only got half an hour, now."
Harrowby rose unhappily and went into the inner room, Huntley at his heels. Minot sat, his unseeing eyes gazing down at the old copy of the London Times which Harrowby had been reading that morning at breakfast
Gradually, despite his preoccupation, a name
