"Allan? You wish Allan? Very well. I'll tell him."
He turned away from the telephone and faced his brother.
"It was old Meyrick, kid. Seemed somewhat hot under the collar. Wants to see you in their suite at once."
"Wha—what do you imagine he wants?"
"Going to make you a present of Riverside Drive, I fancy. Go ahead, boy. I'll wait for you here."
Allan Harrowby went out, along the dusky corridor to the Meyrick door. Not without misgivings, he knocked. A voice boomed "Come!" He pushed open the door.
He saw Spencer Meyrick sitting purple at a table, and beside him Cynthia Meyrick, in the loveliest gown of all the lovely gowns she had ever worn. The beauty of the girl staggered Harrowby a bit; never demonstrative, he had a sudden feeling that he should be at her feet.
"You—you sent for me?" he asked, coming into the room. As he moved closer to the girl he was to marry he saw that her face was whiter
