Why, damme, it is Medenham!"

So Mrs. Devar lost a golden opportunity. She knew Fenton by sight, and
her shrewd wits must have set her on the right track had she witnessed
his bewilderment. Being a pretentious person, however, and not able to
afford the up-keep of a motor, she was enjoying the surprise of two
well-dressed women who recognized her. Then the car leaped forward
again, and she scored a dearly won triumph.

At this crisis Medenham's scrutiny of the road map provided by
Simmonds for the tour was well repaid. He turned sharp to the right
past the back of the stands, and was fortunate in finding enough clear
road to render pursuit by his elderly cousin a vain thing, even if it
were thought of. The Mercury had to cross the caravan zone carefully,
but once Tattenham Corner was reached the way lay open to Reigate.

Through a land of gorse and heather they sped until they came to the
famous hill. They ran down in a noiseless flight that caused Cynthia
to experience the sensation of being borne on wings.

"I imagine that aeroplaning is something like this," she confided to
her companion.

"If it is, it must be enjoyable. I don't suppose, at my time of
life, I shall ever try to navigate the air in one of those frail
contrivances pictured in the newspapers. But I was nearly tempted to
go up in a balloon two years ago."

Cynthia stole a glance at Mrs. Devar's rotund figure, and laughed. She
could not help it, though she flushed furiously at what she deemed an
involuntary rudeness on her part.

"Oh, it sounds funny, I have no doubt," said the other, placidly
good-tempered, "but I really meant it at the moment. You have met
Count Edouard Marigny, I fancy?"

"Yes, in Paris last month. In fact----"

Cynthia hesitated. She had scarcely recovered from the excitement of
the racing and was not choosing her words quite happily. Mrs. Devar,
still sugary, ended the sentence.

"In fact, it was he who recommended me to Mr. Vanrenen as your
chaperon. Yes, my dear, Monsieur Marigny and I are old friends. He and
my son are inseparable when Captain Devar is in Paris. Well, as I was
saying, the Count offered to take me up in his balloon, L'Etoile, and
I was ready to go, but the weather became stormy and an ascent from
the Velo was impossible, or highly dangerous, at any rate."

Mrs. Devar cultivated the high-pitched voice that she regarded as
the hall-mark of good breeding, and, in that silent rush downhill,
Medenham coul