"That's what I said. I'm a plain man, Harrowby. A plain American. It doesn't seem to me that marrying into the British nobility is worth all the trouble it's costing us—"
"But really—"
"It may be, but it doesn't look that way to me. I prefer a simple wedding to a series of vaudeville acts. If you think I'm going to stand for the publicity of this latest affair, you're mistaken. I've talked matters over with Cynthia—the marriage is off—for good!"
"But my dear sir, Cynthia and I are very fond of each other—"
"I don't give a damn if you are!" Meyrick fumed. "This is the last straw. I'm through with you. Good night, and good-by."
He stamped out as he had come, and Lord Harrowby fell limply into a chair.
"All over, and all done," he moaned.
"And Jephson loses," said Minot with mixed emotions.
"Yes—I'm sorry." Harrowby shook his head tragically. "Sorrier than you are, old chap. I love Cynthia Meyrick—really I do. This is a bit of a blow."
"Come, come!" cried Mr. Huntley. "I'm not going to miss that train while you play-act. We've only got half an hour, now."