"Ah--coming to your senses, aren't you?" said Trimmer. "I hope we aren't spoiling the joyous wedding-day. But then, what I say is, if the girl's marrying you just for the title--" Harrowby leaped to his feet "You haven't been asked for an opinion," he said. "No, of course not. Don't get excited. I'll see you both in the morning at ten." And Mr. Trimmer strolled elegantly away. Harrowby turned hopefully Jo Minot. "At ten in the morning," he repeated. "Old chap, what are we going to do at ten in the morning?" "I don't know," smiled Minot. "But if past performances mean anything, we'll win." CHAPTER XVI WHO'S WHO IN ENGLAND "What's the matter with you?" Seated in the lobby of the De la Pax on Sunday morning, Mr. Trimmer turned a disapproving eye upon the lank Englishman at his side as he made this query. And his question was not without good foundation. For the aspirant to the title of Lord Harrowby was at the moment a jelly quaking with fear. "Fawncy meeting you after all these years," said poor old George in an uncertain treble. "Come, come," cried Mr. Trimmer, "put a little more authority into your voice. You can't walk up and claim your rights with your knees dancing the tango. This is the moment we've been looking forward to. Act determined. Walk into that room up-stairs as though you were walking into Rakedale Hall to take charge of it." "Allan, don't you know me--I'm your brother George," went on the Englishman, intent on rehearsing. "More like it," said Trimmer. "Put the fire into it. You're not expecting a thrashing, you know. You're expecting the title and recognition that belongs to you. I wish I was the real Lord Harrowby. I guess I'd show 'em a thing or two." "I wish you was," agreed poor old George sadly. "Somehow, I don't seem to have the spirit I used to have." "A good point," commented Trimmer. "Years of wrong and suffering have made you timid. I'll call that to their attention. Five minutes of ten, your lordship." His lordship groaned. "All right, I'm ready," he said. "What is it I say as I go in? Oh, yes--" He stepped into the elevator--"Fawncy seeing you after all these years." The negro elevator boy was somewhat startled at this greeting, but regained his composure and started the car. Mr. Trimmer and his "proposition" shot up toward their great opportunity. In Lord Harrowby's suite that gentleman sat in considerable nervousness, awaiting the undesired encounter. With him sat Miss Meyrick and her father, whom he had thought it necessary to invite to witness the ordeal. Mr. Richard Minot uneasily paced the floor, avoiding as much as possible the glances of Miss Meyrick's brown eyes. Ten o'clock was upon him, and Mr. Minot was no nearer a plan of action than he had been the preceding night. Every good press agent is not without a live theatrical sense, and Mr. Trimmer was no exception. He left his trembling claimant in the entrance hall and strode into the room.