does not always
mean to carry out. Besides, I don't know many soldiers.... It is
charming here, by the river's edge, but I must remember that you are
soaked to the skin. Where are we, exactly?"

"About four miles from the hotel, by water: perhaps a mile and
three-quarters as the crow flies."

"How far as a girl walks?"

"Let us try," he said briskly. "We seem to have landed in a meadow. If
we cross it, all my efforts to save that muslin frock will count as
naught, since there is sure to be a heavy dew on the grass after this
fine day. Suppose we follow the bank a little way until we reach some
sort of a path. Will you take my hand?"

"No, I need both hands to hold up my dress. But you might grab my
arm. I am wearing French shoes, which are not built for clambering
over rocks."

Cynthia was adroit. The use of one small word had relieved the
situation. Medenham might hold her arm with the utmost tenderness, but
so long as he was "grabbing" it there was nothing more to be said.

He piloted her to a narrow strip of turf that bordered the Wye, found
a path that ran close to a small wood, and soon they were in a road.
There was slight excuse for arm-holding now, but Cynthia seemed to
think that her frills still needed safeguarding, so he did not
withdraw the hand which clung to her elbow.

A light in a laborer's cottage promised information; he knocked at the
door, which was not opened, but a voice cried:

"Who is it? What do you want?"

"Tell me the nearest way to the Symon's Yat Hotel, please," said
Medenham.

"Keep straight on till you come to the ferry. If the boat is on this
side you can pull yourself across."

"But if it is not?"

"You must chance it. The nearest bridge is a mile the other way."

"By gad!" said Medenham under his breath.

"I wouldn't care a pin if Mrs. Devar wasn't waiting for me," whispered
Cynthia, whose mental attitude during this mishap on the Wye
contrasted strangely with her alarm when Marigny's motor collapsed on
the Mendips.

"Mrs. Devar is the real problem," laughed Medenham. "We must find some
means of soothing her agitation."

"Why don't you like her?"

"That is one of the things I wish to explain later."

"She has been horrid to you, I know, but----"

"I am beginning to think that I owe her a debt of gratitude I can
never repay."

"What will happen if that wretched ferryboat is on the wrong side of
the river?"

Medenham took her arm again, for the road was dark