"Please do not make yourself any more ridiculous than is necessary. You have put your employer's money above my happiness. Always. Really, you looked rather cheap to-day, with your sanctimonious advice that I marry Harrowby. Aren't you beginning to realize your own position--the silly childish figure you cut?" "Then you--" "Last night when you came staggering across the lawn to me with this foolish gown in your arms--I told you I hated you. Do you imagine I hate you any less now. Well, I don't." Her voice became tearful. "I hate you! I hate you!" "But some day--" She turned away from him, for she was sobbing outright now. "I never want to see you again as long as I live," she cried. "Never! Never! Never!" Limp, pitiable, worn by the long fight he had waged, Minot stood staring helplessly at her heaving shoulders. "Then--I can only say I'm sorry," he murmured. "And--good-by." He waited. She did not turn toward him. He stumbled out of the room. CHAPTER XXII "WELL, HARDLY EVER--" Minot went below and sent two messages, one to Jephson, the other to Thacker. The lobby of the De la Pax was thronged with brilliantly attired wedding guests who, metaphorically, beat their breasts in perplexity over the tidings that had come even as they craned their necks to catch the first glimpse of that distinguished bridal party. The lavishly decorated parlor that was to have been the scene of the ceremony stood tragically deserted. Minot cast one look at it, and hurried again to his own particular cell. He took a couple of time-tables from his desk, and sat down in a chair facing the window. All over now. Nothing to do but return to the North, as fast as the trains would take him. He had won, but he had also lost. He felt listless, weary. He let the time-tables fall to the floor, and sat gazing out at that narrow street--thinking--wondering--wishing-- It was late in the afternoon when the clamor of his telephone recalled him to himself. He leaped up, and seized the receiver. Allan Harrowby's voice came over the wire. "Can you run down to the room, Minot?" he inquired. "The last call, old boy." Minot went. He found both the Harrowbys there, prepared to say good-by to San Marco forever. "Going to New York on the _Lady Evelyn_," said George Harrowby, who was aggressively cheerful. "From there I'm taking Allan to Chicago. Going to have him reading George Ade and talking our language in a week." Lord Harrowby smiled wanly. "Nothing left but Chicago," he drawled. "I wanted to see you before I went, Minot, old chap. Not that I can thank you for all you did--I don't know how. You stood by me like--like a gentleman. And I realize that I have no claim on Lloyds--it was all my fault--if I'd never let Martin Wall have that confounded policy-- But what's the use of if-ing? All my fault. And--my thanks, old boy." He sighed.