"He's got you, Allan," said George Harrowby, coming forward, "and I for one can't say I'm sorry. You're going to tear up that policy now—and go to work for me."
"I for one am sorry," cried Miss Meyrick, her flashing eyes on Minot. "I wanted you to win, Allan. I wanted you to win."
"Why?" Minot asked innocently.
"You ought to know," she answered, and turned away.
Lord Harrowby moved toward the door.
"We're not hard losers," he said blankly. "But—everything's gone—it's a bit of a smash-up. Good-by, Cynthia."
"Good-by, Allan—and good luck."
"Thanks." And Harrowby went out with his brother.
Minot stood for a time, not daring to move. Cynthia Meyrick was at the window; her scornful back was not encouraging. Finally she turned, saw Minot and gave a start of surprise.
"Oh—you're still here?"