"Did I say the young woman was vivacious?" inquired Lord Harrowby. "She is. A thousand girls in one. Some untoward happening, and she might change her mind—in a flash."
Silence within the room; outside the roar of New York and the clatter of the inevitable riveting machine making its points relentlessly.
"That," said Lord Harrowby slowly, "is what I wish you to insure me against, Mr. Jephson."
"You mean—"
"I mean the awful possibility of Miss Cynthia Meyrick's changing her mind."
Again silence, save for the riveting machine outside. And three men looking unbelievingly at one another.
"Of course," his lordship went on hastily, "it is understood that I personally am very eager for this wedding to take place. It is understood that in the interval before the ceremony I shall do all in my power to keep Miss Meyrick to her present intention. Should the marriage be abandoned because of any act of mine, I would be ready to forfeit all claims on Lloyds."
Mr. Thacker recovered his breath and his voice at one and the same time.
"Preposterous," he snorted. "Begging your lordship's pardon, you can not expect hard-headed business men to listen seriously to any such proposition as that. Tushery, sir, tushery! Speaking as the American representative of Lloyds—"
"One moment," interrupted Mr. Jephson. In his eyes shone a queer light—a light such as one might expect to find in the eyes of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up. "One moment, please. What sum had you in mind, Lord Harrowby?"