"Rather tough on you, Lord Harrowby," he remarked, pouring himself a drink. "Especially just now. The fresh bounder! Ought to have been kicked out of the room." "An impostor," snorted Harrowby. "A rank impostor." "Of course." Mr. Wall set down his glass. "But don't worry. If Trimmer gets too obstreperous, I'll take care of him myself. I guess I'll be going back to the yacht." After Wall's departure, Minot and Harrowby sat staring at each other for a long moment. "See here, your lordship," said Minot at last. "You know why I'm in San Marco. That wedding next Tuesday must take place without fail. And I can't say that I approve of your action just now--" "My dear boy," Harrowby interrupted soothingly, "I appreciate your position. But there was nothing to be gained by seeing Mr. Trimmer's friend. The Meyricks were distressed, naturally, by that ridiculous sandwich-board affair last evening, but they have made no move to call off the wedding on account of it. The best thing to do, I'm sure, is to let matters take their course. I might be able to prove that chap's claims false--and then again I mightn't, even if I knew they were false. And--there is a third possibility." "What is that?" "He might really be--George." "But you said your brother died, twelve years ago." "That is what we heard. But--one can not be sure. And, delighted as I should be to know that George is alive, naturally I should prefer to know it after next Tuesday." Anger surged into Minot's heart. "Is that fair to the young lady who--" "Who is to become my wife?" Lord Harrowby waved his hand. "It is. Miss Meyrick is not marrying me for my title. As for her father and aunt, I can not be so sure. I want no disturbance. You want none. I am sure it is better to let things take their course." "All right," said Minot. "Only I intend to do every thing in my power to put this wedding through." "My dear chap--your cause is mine," answered his lordship. Minot returned to the narrow confines of his room. On the bureau, where he had thrown it earlier in the day, lay an invitation to dine that night with Mrs. Bruce. Thus was Jack Paddock's hand shown. The dinner was to be in Miss Meyrick's honor, and Mr. Minot was not sorry he was to go. He took up the invitation and reread it smilingly. So he was to hear Mrs. Bruce at her own table--the wittiest hostess in San Marco--bar none. The drowsiness of a Florida midday was in the air. Mr. Minot lay down on his bed. A hundred thoughts were his: the brown of Miss Meyrick's eyes, the sincerity of Mr. Trimmer's voice when he spoke of his proposition, the fishy look of Lord Harrowby refusing to meet his long lost brother. Things grew hazy. Mr. Minot slept. On leaving Lord Harrowby's rooms, Mr. Martin Wall did not immediately set out for the _Lileth_, on which he lived in preference to the hotel. Instead he took a brisk turn about the spacious lobby of the De la Pax.