"But I'm not sentimental. And surely Allan's not."
"Then I must be," said Minot. "Really—I'd rather not—"
They went together to the street. At the parting of the ways, Minot turned to her.
"I promised Lord Harrowby in New York," he told her, "that you would have your lamp trimmed and burning."
She looked up at him. A mischievous light came into her eyes.
"Please—have you a match?" she asked.
It was too much. Minot turned and fled down the street. He did not once look back, though it seemed to him that he felt every step the girl took across that narrow pier to her fiancé's side.
As he dressed for dinner that night his telephone rang, and Miss Meyrick's voice sounded over the wire.
"Harrowby remembers you very pleasantly. Won't you join us at dinner?"
"Are you sure an outsider—" he began.
"Nonsense. Mr. Martin Wall is to be there."
