"I will," agreed Mr. Minot. "Do I look like Cupid, gentlemen? No? Ah--it's the overcoat. Well, I'll get rid of that in Florida. I'll say good-by--" He shook hands with Jephson and with Thacker. "Good-by, Richard," said the latter. "I'm really fond of old Jephson here. He's been my friend in need--he mustn't lose. I trust you, my boy." "I won't disappoint you," Dick Minot promised. A look of seriousness flashed across his face. "Miss Cynthia Meyrick changes her mind only over my dead body." He paused for a second at the door, and his eyes grew suddenly thoughtful. "I wonder what she's like?" he murmured. Then, with a smile toward the two men left behind, he went out and down that stenographer-bordered land to San Marco. CHAPTER II AN EVENING IN THE RIVER Though San Marco is a particularly gaudy tassel on the fringe of the tourist's South, it was to the north that Mr. Richard Minot first turned. One hour later he made his appearance amid the gold braid and dignity of the Plaza lobby. The young man behind the desk--an exquisite creature done in Charles Dana Gibson's best manner--knew when to be affable. He also knew when not to be affable. Upon Mr. Minot he turned the cold fishy stare he kept for such as were not guests under his charge. "What is your business with Lord Harrowby?" he inquired suspiciously. "Since when," asked Mr. Minot brightly, "have you been in his lordship's confidence?" This was the young man's cue to wince. But hotel clerks are notoriously poor wincers. "It is customary--" he began with perfect poise. "I know," said Mr. Minot. "But then, I'm a sort of a friend of his lordship." "A sort of a friend?" How well he lifted his eyebrows! "Something like that. I believe I'm to be best man at his wedding." Ah, yes; that splendid young man knew when to be affable. Affability swamped him now. "Boy!" he cried. "Take this gentleman's card to Lord Harrowby." A bell-boy in a Zenda uniform accepted the card, laid it upon a silver tray, glued it down with a large New York thumb, and strayed off down gilded corridors shouting, "Lord Harrowby." Whereat all the pretty little debutantes who happened to be decorating the scene at the moment felt their pampered hearts go pit-a-pat and, closing their eyes, saw visions and dreamed dreams. Lord Harrowby was at luncheon, and sent word for Mr. Minot to join him. Entering the gay dining-room, Minot saw at the far end the blond and noble head he sought. He threaded his way between the tables. Although he was an unusually attractive young man, he had never experienced anything like the array of stares turned upon him ere he had gone ten feet. "What the devil's the matter?" he asked himself. "I seem to be the cynosure of neighboring eyes, and then some." He did not dream that it was because he was passing through a dining-room of democrats to grasp the hand of a lord.