Earl Derr Biggers

“ Cynthia Meyrick smiled down on him.
"Splendid," Minot laughed. "I walk forlorn through this old Spanish town—suddenly a lattice is thrown wide, a fair hand beckons. I dash within."
"Thanks for dashing," Miss Meyrick greeted him, on the balcony. "I was finding it dreadfully dull. But I'm afraid the Spanish romance is a little lacking. There is no moonlight, no lattice, no mantilla, no Spanish beauty."
"No matter," Minot answered. "I never did care for Spanish types. They flash like a sky-rocket—then tumble in the dark. Now, the home-grown girls—"
"And nothing but tea," she interrupted. ”

“ Minot considered. What was there to do but see it through? Even though Thacker should send another to take his place, could he stay to woo the lady he adored? Hardly. In that event he would have to go away—never see her again—never hear her voice— If he stayed as Jephson's representative he might know the glory of her nearness for a week, might thrill at her smile—even while he worked to wed her to Lord Harrowby. And perhaps— Who could say? Hard as he might work, might he not be thwarted? ”

“ Had she been, she would have declared this Cynthia Meyrick a silly, and laughed her into gaiety again.
Into the room toddled the aunt who had stood so faithfully on the coaching line abroad. With heavy wit, she spoke of the coming of Lord Harrowby. Miss Cynthia did not smile. She turned grave eyes on her aunt.
"I'm wondering," she confessed. "Was it the thing to do, after all? Shall I be so very happy?"
"Nonsense, Ninety-nine out of a hundred engaged girls have doubts. It's natural." Aunt Mary sat down on the bed, which groaned in agony. "Of course you'll be happy. ”

“ Then, as I'm usually present at the occasion, I swing things round for her and give her her cues. If I'm not there, she has to manage it herself. It's a great life—only a bit of a strain on me. I have to remember not to be clever in company. ”

“ I thought, of course, you came for pleasure."
"There'll be no pleasure in this trip for me," said Minot bitterly.
"Oh, won't there?" Paddock laughed. "Wait till you hear Mrs. Bruce talk. See you later, old man."
At luncheon they brought Mr. Minot a telegram from a certain seventeenth floor in New York. An explosive telegram. It read:
"Nonsense nobody here to take your place, see it through, you've given your word. ”

“ As he dressed for dinner that night his telephone rang, and Miss Meyrick's voice sounded over the wire.
"Harrowby remembers you very pleasantly. Won't you join us at dinner?"
"Are you sure an outsider—" he began.
"Nonsense. Mr. Martin Wall is to be there."
"Ah—thank you—I'll be delighted," Minot replied.
In the lobby Harrowby seized his hand.
"My dear chap—you're looking fit. Great to see you again. By the way—do you know Martin Wall?"
"Yes—Mr. Wall and I met just before the splash," Minot smiled. He shook hands with Wall, unaccountably genial and beaming. "The Hudson, Mr. ”