he had bid good-by to the sparkling Gaiety lady, he sat puffing furiously at a cigar. Back into the past as it concerned Chain Lightning's Collar he went. That night when Cynthia Meyrick had worn it in her hair, and Harrowby, hearing of the search for it—had snatched it in the dark. His own guardianship of the valuable trinket—Martin Wall's invasion of his rooms—the "dropping" of the jewels on shipboard, and the return of them by Mr. Wall next morning. And last, but not least, Mr. Stacy's firm refusal to loan money on the necklace that very night.
All these things Minot pondered.
Meanwhile Harrowby, having finished his packing, descended to the lobby of the De la Pax. In a certain pink parlor he found Cynthia Meyrick, and stood gazing helplessly into her eyes.
"Cynthia—your father said—is it true?"
"It's true, Allan."
"You too wish the wedding—indefinitely postponed?"
"Father thinks it best—"
"But you?" He came closer. "You, Cynthia?"
