"The man's crazy," Allan Harrowby cried. "Raving mad. He's an impostor--this is a trick of his--" He looked helplessly around the circle. In every face he saw doubt, questioning. "Good heavens--you're not going to listen to him? He's come here to prove that he's George Harrowby. Why doesn't he do it?" "I'll do it," said George sweetly, "when I meet a real Harrowby. In the meantime, I give you twenty-four hours to get out of town. You'd better go." Victorious, George turned toward the door. Trimmer, lost between admiration and doubt, turned also. "Take my advice," George proclaimed. "Make him prove who he is. That's the important point now. What does it matter to you who I am? Nothing. But it matters a lot about him. Make him prove that he's Allan Harrowby." And, with the imperious manner that he should have adopted on entering the room, George Harrowby left it. Mr. Trimmer, eclipsed for once, trotted at his side. "Say," cried Trimmer in the hall, "is that on the level? Isn't he Allan Harrowby?" "I should say not," said George grandly. "Doesn't look anything like Allan." Trimmer chortled in glee. "Great stuff," he cried. "I guess we tossed a bomb, eh? Now, we'll run him out of town." "Oh, no," said George. "We've done our work here. Let's go over to London now and see the pater." "That we will," cried Trimmer. "That we will. By gad, I'm proud of you to-day, Lord Harrowby." Inside Allan Harrowby's suite three pairs of questioning eyes were turned on that harassed nobleman. He fidgeted in his chair. "I say," he pleaded. "It's all his bluff, you know." "Maybe," said old Spencer Meyrick, rising. "But Harrowby--or whatever your name is--there's altogether too much three-ring circus about this wedding to suit me. My patience is exhausted, sir--clean exhausted. Things look queer to me--have right along. I'm more than inclined to believe what that fellow said." "But my dear sir--that chap is a rank impostor. There wasn't a word of truth in what he said. Cynthia--you understand--" "Why, yes--I suppose so," the girl replied. "You are Allan Harrowby, aren't you?" "My dear girl--of course I am." "Nevertheless," said Spencer Meyrick with decision, "I'm going to call the wedding off again. Some of your actions haven't made much of a hit with me. I'm going to call it off until you come to me and prove that you're Allan Harrowby--a lord in good and regular standing, with all dues paid." "But--confound it, sir--a gentleman's word--" "Mr. Meyrick," put in Minot, "may I be allowed to say that I consider your action hasty--" "And may I be allowed to ask what affair this is of yours?" demanded Mr. Meyrick hotly. "Father!" cried Miss Meyrick. "Please do not be harsh with Mr. Minot. His heart is absolutely set on my marriage with Lord Harrowby. Naturally he feels very badly over all this." Minot winced.