"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 lane to San Marco.
CHAPTER II
AN EVENING IN THE RIVER
THOUGH San Marco is a particularly gaudy tassej 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, Fm a sort of a friend of his lordship."
"A sort of a friend?" How well he lifted his eyebrows!
"Something like that. I believe Fm 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 imiform 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
AN EVENING IN THE RIVER 25
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.
"My dear fellow, Fm delighted, I assure you—" Really, Lord Harrowby's face should have paid closer attention to his words. Just now it failed ignominiously in the matter of backing them up.
"Thank you," Mr. Minot replied. "Your lordship is no doubt surprised at seeing me so soon—"
"Well—er—not at all. Shall I order luncheon?"
"No, thanks. I had a bite on the way up." And Mr. Minot dropped into the chair which an eager waiter held ready. "Lord Harrowby, I
trust you are not going to be annoyed by what I have to tell you."
His lordship's face clouded, and worry entered the mild blue eyes.
"I hope there's nothing wrong about the policy."
"Nothing whatever.
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