o indication of it. Rubbing the window
with his hand he peered out.

"I think we are just turning in at the Rectory gates," he remarked
carelessly.

In another minute the motor had throbbed to a standstill and the
chauffeur was standing at the open door.

"I'm sorry we've been so long coming, sir," he said, touching his hat.
"I took a wrong turning--lost me way a bit."

Then as Errington and Diana passed into the house, he added thoughtfully,
addressing his engine:--

"She's a pretty little bit of skirt and no mistake. I wonder, now, if we
was lost long enough, eh, Billy?"

CHAPTER VII

DIANA SINGS

"I feel that we are very much indebted to you, Mr. Errington," said
Stair, when he and Joan had listened to an account of the afternoon's
proceedings--the major portion of them, that is. Certain details were
not included in the veracious history. "You seem to have a happy knack
of turning up just at the moment you are most needed," he added
pleasantly.

"I think I must plead indebtedness to Miss Quentin for allowing me such
unique opportunities of playing knight errant," replied Max, smiling.
"Such chances are rare in this twentieth century of ours, and Miss
Quentin always kindly arranges so that I run no serious risks--to life
and limb, at least," he added, his mocking eyes challenging Diana's.

She flushed indignantly. Evidently he wished her to understand that that
breathless moment in the car counted for nothing--must not be taken
seriously. He had only been amusing himself with her--just as he had
amused himself by chatting in the train--and again a wave of resentment
against him, against the cool, dominating insolence of the man, surged
through her.

"I hope you'll stay and join us at dinner," the Rector was
saying--"unless it's hopelessly spoilt by waiting so long. Is it, Joan?"

"Oh, no. I think there'll be some surviving remnants," she assured him.

"Then if you'll overlook any discrepancies," pursued Stair, smiling at
Errington, "do stay."

"Say, rather, if you'll overlook discrepancies," answered Errington,
smiling back--there was something infectious about Stair's geniality.
"I'm afraid a boiled shirt is out of the question--unless I go home to
fetch it!"

Diana stared at him. Was he really going to stay--to accept the
invitation--after all that had occurred? If he did, she thought
scornfully, it was only in keeping with that calm arrogance of his by
which he allocated to hims