It was too much. Minot turned and fled down the street. He did not once look back, though it seemed to him that he felt every step the girl took across that narrow pier to her fiancé's side. As he dressed for dinner that night his telephone rang, and Miss Meyrick's voice sounded over the wire. "Harrowby remembers you very pleasantly. Won't you join us at dinner?" "Are you sure an outsider--" he began. "Nonsense. Mr. Martin Wall is to be there." "Ah--thank you--I'll be delighted," Minot replied. In the lobby Harrowby seized his hand. "My dear chap--you're looking fit. Great to see you again. By the way--do you know Martin Wall?" "Yes--Mr. Wall and I met just before the splash," Minot smiled. He shook hands with Wall, unaccountably genial and beaming. "The Hudson, Mr. Wall, is a bit chilly in February." "My dear fellow," said Wall, "can you ever forgive me? A thousand apologies. It was all a mistake--a horrible mistake." "I felt like a rotter when I heard about it," Harrowby put in. "Martin mistook you for some one else. You must forgive us both." "Freely," said Minot. "And I want to apologize for my suspicions of you, Lord Harrowby." "Thanks, old chap." "I never doubted you would come--after I saw Miss Meyrick." "She is a ripper, isn't she?" said Harrowby enthusiastically. Martin Wall shot a quick, almost hostile glance at Minot. "You've noticed that yourself, haven't you?" he said in Minot's ear. At which point the Meyrick family arrived, and they all went in to dinner. That function could hardly be described as hilarious. Aunt Mary fluttered and gasped in her triumph, and spoke often of her horror of the new. The recent admission of automobiles to the sacred precincts of Bar Harbor seemed to be the great and disturbing fact in life for her. Spencer Meyrick said little; his thoughts were far away. The rush and scramble of a business office, the click of typewriters, the excitement of the dollar chase--these things had been his life. Deprived of them, like many another exile in the South, he moved in a dim world of unrealities and wished that he were home. Minot, too, had little to say. On Martin Wall fell the burden of entertainment, and he bore it as one trained for the work. Blithely he gossiped of queer corners that had known him and amid the flow of his oratory the dinner progressed. It was after dinner, when they all stood together in the lobby a moment before separating, that Mr. Henry Trimmer made good his promise out of a clear sky. Cynthia Meyrick stood facing the others, talking brightly, when suddenly her face paled and the flippant words died on her lips. They all turned instantly.