He saw Spencer Meyrick sitting purple at a table, and beside him Cynthia Meyrick, in the loveliest gown of all the lovely gowns she had ever worn. The beauty of the girl staggered Harrowby a bit; never demonstrative, he had a sudden feeling that he should be at her feet. "You--you sent for me?" he asked, coming into the room. As he moved closer to the girl he was to marry he saw that her face was whiter 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--" "It is--unfortunate. But there will be no wedding." The old man turned to his daughter. "Cynthia," he asked, "have you nothing to say?" "Yes." White, trembling, the girl faced his lordship. "It seems, Allan, that you have regarded our marriage as a business proposition. You have gambled on the stability of the market. Well, you win. I have changed my mind. This is final. I shall not change it again." "Cynthia!" And any who had considered Lord Harrowby unfeeling must have been surprised at the anguish in his voice. "I have loved you--I love you now. I adore you. What can I say in explanation--of this. We gamble, all of us--it is a passion bred in the family. That is why I took out this absurd policy. My dearest--it doesn't mean that there was no love on my side. There is--there always will be, whatever happens. Can't you understand--" The girl laid her hand on his arm, and drew him away to the window. "It's no use, Allan," she said, for his ears alone. "Perhaps I could have forgiven--but somehow--I don't care--as I thought I did. It 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?"