"Yes, but it is as vivid as though it were yesterday. I have always intended to demand some redress from his lordship. But my art—Mr.—Mr. Minot—you have no idea how exacting art can be. Not until now have I been in a position to do so."
"And the fact that not until now has his lordship proposed to marry some one else—that of course has nothing to do with it?"
"Mr. Minot!" A delightful pout. "If you knew me better you could not possibly ask that."
"Miss Rose, you're a clever woman—"
"Oh, please don't. I hate clever women, and I'm sure you do, too. I'm not a bit clever, and I'm proud of it. On the contrary, I'm rather weak—rather easily got round. But when I think of the position Allan put me in—even a weak woman can be firm in the circumstances."
"Have it your own way," said Minot, bowing. "But you are at least clever enough to understand the futility of demanding financial redress from a man who is flat broke. I assure you Lord Harrowby hasn't a shilling."
"I don't believe it. He can get money somehow. He always could. The courts can force him to. I shall tell my lawyer to go ahead with the suit."
"If you would only delay—a week—"
"Impossible." Miss Rose spoke with haughty languor. "I begin rehearsals in New York in a week. No, I shall start suit to-day. You may tell Lord Harrowby so."
Poor Jephson! Minot had a mental picture of the little bald man writing at that very moment a terribly large check for the Dowager Duchess of Tremayne—paying for the rain that had fallen in torrents. He must at least hold this woman off until Jephson answered his cable.