gentiy. "I like you the better for being maddened."
Old Spencer Meyrick said nothing, but Minot noted that his face was rather red, and his eyes were somewhat dangerous. They all walked back to the hotel in silence.
From the hotel lobby, as if by prearrangement, Harrowby followed Miss Meyrick and her father into a parlor. Minot and Paddock were left alone.
"My word, old top," said Mr. Paddock facetiously, "a rough night for the nobilily. What do you think? That lad's story sounded like a little bit of all right to me. Eh, what?"
"It did sound convincing," returned the troubled Minot. "But then—a servant at Rakedale Hall could have concocted it."
"Mayhap," said Mr. Paddock. "However, old Spencer Meyrick looked to me like a volcano I'd want to get out from under. Poor old Harrowby! I'm afraid there's a rift within the loot—nay, no loot at all."
"Jack," said Minot firmly, "that wedding has got to take place."
