is better, embarrassing as it may be for us both, that there should be no wedding, after all."
"Cynthia—you can't mean that. You don't believe me. Let me send for my brother—he will tell you of the passion for gambling in our family—he will tell you that I love you, too—"
He moved toward the telephone.
"No use," said Cynthia Meyrick, shaking her head. "It would only prolong a painful scene. Please don't, Allan."
"I'll send for Minot, too," Harrowby cried.
"Mr. Minot?" The girl's eyes narrowed. "And what has Mr. Minot to do with this?"
"Everything. He came down here as the representative of Lloyds. He came down to make sure that you didn't change your mind. He will tell you that I love you—"
A queer expression hovered about Miss Meyrick's lips. Spencer Meyrick interrupted.
"Nonsense," he cried. "There is no need to—"
"One moment." Cynthia Meyrick's eyes shone strangely. "Send for your brother, Allan. And—for—Mr. Minot."
