"Wha—what!" His lordship faced about "Why, sir—the guests must be—down-stairs—"
"It is—unfortunate. But there will be no wedding." The old man turned to his daughter. "Cynthia," he asked, "have you nothing to say?"
"Yes." White, trembling, the girl faced his lordship. "It seems, Allan, that you have regarded our marriage as a business proposition. You have gambled on the stability of the market. Well, you win. I have changed my mind. This is final. I shall not change it again."
"Cynthia!" And any who had considered Lord Harrowby unfeeling must have been surprised at the anguish in his voice. "I have loved you—I love you now. I adore you. What can I say in explanation—of this. We gamble, all of us—it is a passion bred in the family. That is why I took out this absurd policy. My dearest—it doesn't mean that there was no love on my side. There is—there always will be, whatever happens. Can't you understand—"
The girl laid her hand on his arm, and drew him away to the window.
"It's no use, Allan," she said, for his ears alone. "Perhaps I could have forgiven—but somehow—I don't care—as I thought I did. It is better, embarrassing as it may be for us both, that there should be no wedding, after all."
"Cynthia—you can't mean that. You don't believe me. Let me send for my brother—he will tell you of the passion for gambling in our family—he will tell you that I love you, too—"
He moved toward the telephone.
"No use," said Cynthia Meyrick, shaking her head. "It would only prolong a painful scene. Please don't, Allan."
"I'll send for Minot, too," Harrowby cried.