"I—I don't know. There has been so much trouble, Allan—"
"I know. And I'm fearfully sorry about this latest But, Cynthia—you mustn't send me away—I love you. Do you doubt that?"
"No, Allan,"
"You're the most wonderful girl who has ever come into my life—I want you in it always-beside me—"
"At any rate, Allan, a wedding next Tuesday is impossible now."
"Yes, I'm afraid it is. And after that—"
"After that—I don't know, Allan."
Aunt Mary came into the room, distress written plainly in her plump face. No misstep of the peerage was beyond Aunt Mary's forgiveness. She took Harrowby's hand.
"I'm so sorry, your lordship," she said. "Most unfortunate. But I'm sure it will all be cleared away in time—"
Mr. Huntley made it a point to interrupt. He stood at the door, watch in hand.
"Come on," he said. "We've got to start."
Harrowby followed the ladies from the room.
