for a long time staring at Lord Harrowby. Finally he spoke.
"Say, Harrowby," he inquired, "who the devil are you?"
His lordship sadly shook his head.
"You, too, Brutus," he sighed. "Haven't I one friend left? I'm Allan Harrowby. Ask Jephson. If I weren't, that policy that's causing you so much trouble wouldn't be worth the paper it's written on."
"That's right, too. Well, admitting you're Harrowby, how are you going to prove it?"
"I've an idea," Harrowby replied.
"Everything comes to him who waits. What is it?"
"A very good friend of mine—an old Oxford friend—is attached to our embassy at Washington. He was planning to come down for the wedding. I'll telegraph him to board the next train."
"Good boy," said Minot. "That's a regular idea. Better send the wire at once."
Harrowby promised, and they parted. In the
