"Cynthia," cried Harrowby brokenly. There was no reply. Old Meyrick went out.
"I'm sorry," his lordship said. "Sorry I made such a mess of it—the more so because I love you, Cynthia—and always shall. Good-by."
He held out his hand. She put hers in it.
"It's too bad, Allan," she said. "But—it wasn't to be. And, even now, you have one consolation—the money that Lloyds must pay you."
"The money means nothing, Cynthia—"
"Miss Meyrick is mistaken," Minot interrupted. "Lord Harrowby has not even that consolation. Lloyds owes him nothing."
"Why not?" asked the girl defiantly.
"Up to an hour ago," said Minot, "you were determined to marry his lordship?"
"I should hardly put it that way. But—I intended to."
"Yes. Then you changed your mind. Why?"
"I changed it because I found out about this ridiculous, this insulting policy."
"Then his lordship's taking out of the policy caused the calling off of the wedding?"
"Y—yes. Why?"
