"I'll explain it all later. There's really nothing dishonorable--as men of the world look at such things. I give you my word that you can serve Mr. Jephson best by keeping the necklace for the present--and seeing to it that it does not fall into the hands of the men who are looking for it." Minot sat staring gloomily ahead of him. Then he reached out, took up the necklace, and restored it to his pocket. "Oh, very well," he said. "If I'm sent to jail, tell Thacker I went singing an epithalamium." He rose. "By the way," Harrowby remarked, "I'm giving a little dinner to-night--at the Manhattan Club. May I count on you?" "Surely," Minot smiled. "I'll be there, wearing our necklace." "My dear fellow--ah, I see you mean it pleasantly. Wear it, by all means." Minot passed from the eccentric blooms of that dressing-gown to the more authentic flowers of the Florida outdoors. In the plaza he met Cynthia Meyrick, rival candidate to the morning in its glory. "Matrimony," she said, "is more trouble than it seems on a moonlit night under the palms. I've never been so busy in my life. By the way, two of my bridesmaids arrived from New York last night. Lovely girls--both of them. But I forget!" "Forget what?" "Your young heart is already ensnared, isn't it?" "Yes," replied Minot fervently. "It is. But no matter. Tell me about your preparations for the wedding. I should like to enjoy the thrill of it--by proxy." "How like a man--wants all the thrill and none of the bother. It's dreadfully hard staging a wedding, way down here a thousand miles from everything. But--my gown came last night from Paris. Can you imagine the thrill of that!" "Only faintly." "How stupid being a man must be." "And how glorious being a girl, with man only an afterthought--even at wedding time." "Poor Harrowby! He keeps in the lime-light fairly well, however." They walked along a moment in silence. "I've wondered," she said at length. "Why _did_ you kidnap--Mr. Trimmer's--friend?" "Because--" "Yes?"--eagerly. Minot looked at her, and something rose in his throat to choke him. "I can't tell you," he said. "It is the fault of--the Master of the Show. I'm only the pawn--the baffled, raging, unhappy little pawn. That's all I can tell you. You--you were speaking of your wedding gown?" "A present from Aunt Mary," she answered, a strange tenderness in her tone. "For a good little girl who's caught a lord." "A charming little girl," said Minot softly. "May I say that?" "Yes--" Her brown eyes glowed. "I'm--glad--to have you--say it. I go in here. Good-by--Mr. Kidnaper." She disappeared into a shop, and Minot walked slowly down the street. Girls from Peoria and Paris, from Boise City and London, passed by. Girls chaperoned and girls alone--tourist girls in swarms. And not a few of them wondered why such a good-looking young man should appear to be so sorry for himself. Returning to the hotel at noon, Minot met Martin Wall on the veranda.