Merrivale lighted a cigar and sat down deliberately to study his paper.
Nearly an hour later he rose, nodded to several members, who glanced up at him expectantly, and serenely took his departure.
A general buzz of discussion followed.
"He doesn't look exactly heart-broken," one man observed.
"Hearts grow tough in the West," remarked another. "He has probably done the breaking-off himself. Jack Merrivale, late of California, isn't the sort of chap to stand much trifling."
A young man with quizzical eyes broke in with a laugh.
"Ask Mr. Cosmo Fletcher! He is really well up on that subject."
"Also Mr. Richard Culver, apparently," returned the first speaker.
Culver grinned and bowed.
"Certainly, sir," he said. "But—luckily for himself—he has never qualified for a leathering from Jack Merrivale, late of California. I don't believe myself that he did do the breaking-off. As they haven't met more than a dozen times, it can't have gone very deep with him. And, anyhow, I am certain the girl never cared twopence for anything except his title, the imp. She's my cousin, you know, so I can call her what I like—always have."