"But my dear sir, Cynthia and I are very fond of each other--" "I don't give a damn if you are!" Meyrick fumed. "This is the last straw. I'm through with you. Good night, and good-by." He stamped out as he had come, and Lord Harrowby fell limply into a chair. "All over, and all done," he moaned. "And Jephson loses," said Minot with mixed emotions. "Yes--I'm sorry." Harrowby shook his head tragically. "Sorrier than you are, old chap. I love Cynthia Meyrick--really I do. This is a bit of a blow." "Come, come!" cried Mr. Huntley. "I'm not going to miss that train while you play-act. We've only got half an hour, now." Harrowby rose unhappily and went into the inner room, Huntley at his heels. Minot sat, his unseeing eyes gazing down at the old copy of the _London Times_ which Harrowby had been reading that morning at breakfast. Gradually, despite his preoccupation, a name in a head-line forced itself to his attention. Courtney Giles. Where had he heard that name before? He picked up the _Times_ from the table on which it was lying. He read: "_The Ardent Lover_, the new romantic comedy in which Courtney Giles has appeared briefly at the West End Road Theater, will be removed from the boards to-night. The public has not been appreciative. If truth must be told--and bitter truth it is--the once beloved matinée idol has become too fat to hold his old admirers, and they have drifted steadily to other, slimmer gods. Mr. Giles' early retirement from the stage is rumored." Minot threw down the paper. Poor old Jephson! First the rain on the dowager duchess, then an actor's expanding waist--and to-morrow the news that Harrowby's wedding was not to be. Why, it would ruin the man! Minot stepped to the door of the inner room. "I'm going out to think," he announced. "I'll see you in the lobby before you leave." Two minutes later, in the summer-house where he had bid good-by to the sparkling Gaiety lady, he sat puffing furiously at a cigar. Back into the past as it concerned Chain Lightning's Collar he went. That night when Cynthia Meyrick had worn it in her hair, and Harrowby, hearing of the search for it--had snatched it in the dark. His own guardianship of the valuable trinket--Martin Wall's invasion of his rooms--the "dropping" of the jewels on shipboard, and the return of them by Mr. Wall next morning. And last, but not least, Mr. Stacy's firm refusal to loan money on the necklace that very night. All these things Minot pondered. Meanwhile Harrowby, having finished his packing, descended to the lobby of the De la Pax. In a certain pink parlor he found Cynthia Meyrick, and stood gazing helplessly into her eyes. "Cynthia--your father said--is it true?" "It's true, Allan." "You too wish the wedding--indefinitely postponed?" "Father thinks it best--" "But you?" He came closer. "You, Cynthia?" "I--I don't know. There has been so much trouble, Allan--"