than her gown, and her brown eyes strained and miserable.
"We did," said Meyrick, rising. He held out a paper. "Will you please look at that"
His lordship took the sheet in unsteady hands. He glanced down. Slowly the meaning of the story that met his gaze filtered through his dazed brain. "Martin Wall did this," he thought to himself. He tried to speak, but could not. Dumbly he stared at Spencer Meyrick.
"We want no scene, Harrowby," said the old man wearily. "We merely want to know if there is in existence a policy such as the one mentioned here?"
The paper slipped from his lordship's lifeless hands. He turned miserably away. Not daring to face either father or daughter, he answered very faintly:
"There is."
Spencer Meyrick sighed.
"That's all we want to know. There will be no wedding, Harrowby."
"Wha—what!" His lordship faced about "Why, sir—the guests must be—down-stairs—"
