"Good lord is meek and futile. So is damn. Put on your little rubber coat, my boy. I predict a hurricane."
In spite of his own troubles, Minot laughed.
"Mirth, eh?" said Paddock grimly, "I can't see it that way. I'll be as popular as a Republican in Texas before this evening is over. Got a couple of hasty rapid-fire resignations all ready. Thought at first I wouldn't come—but that seemed cowardly. Anyway, this is my last appearance on any stage as a librettist. Kindly omit flowers."
And Mr. Paddock drifted gloomily away.
While the servants were passing cocktails on gleaming trays, Minot found the door to the balcony and stepped outside. A white wraith flitted from the shadows to his side.
"Mr. Minot," said a soft, scared little voice.
"Ah—Miss Meyrick," he cried.
Merciful fate this, that they met for the first time since that incident on the ramparts in kindly darkness.
"Miss Meyrick," began Minot hurriedly, "I'm
