d not avoid hearing each syllable. It was eminently
pleasing to listen to Cynthia's praise of his car, and he was wroth
with the other woman for wrenching the girl's thoughts away so
promptly from a topic dear to his heart. Therein he erred, for the
gods were being kind to him. Little recking how valuable was the
information he had just been given, he slackened speed somewhat, and
leaned back in the seat.

"We are nearing Reigate now," he remarked with half-turned head. "The
town begins on the other side of that tunnel. Which inn do you wish to
stop at for tea?"

"It seems to me that I have barely ended lunch," said Cynthia. "Shall
we cut out your old-world Reigate inn, Mrs. Devar, and take tea at
Crawley or Handcross?"

"By all means. How well you know the names of the towns and villages.
Yet you have never before visited this part of England."

"We Americans are nothing if not thorough," answered the girl. "I
would not be happy if I failed to look up our route on the map. More
than that, I note the name of each river we cross and try to identify
every range of hills. You must test me and count my mistakes."

Mrs. Devar spread her hands in a gesture copied from her French
acquaintances.

"My dear, I am the most ignorant person geographically. I remember how
that delightful Count Edouard laughed when I asked him if the Loire
joined the Seine above or below Paris. It seems that I was thinking of
the Oise all the time. The Marchioness of Belfort told me of my error
afterwards."

Cynthia laughed merrily, but made no reply.

Medenham bent over the levers and the car danced on through Reigate.
Mrs. Devar impressed him as a despicable type of tuft-hunter. His
acquaintance with the species was not extensive; he had read of
elderly dowagers who eked out their slender means by introducing the
daughters of rich Americans to English society, and the thing was not
in itself wholly indefensible; but he felt sure that Cynthia Vanrenen
needed no such social sponsor, while the mere bracketing of Count
Edouard Marigny with "Jimmy" Devar caused him to regard this unknown
Frenchman with a suspicion that was already active enough so far as
Mrs. Devar was concerned. And the Marchioness of Belfort, too! A
decrepit old cadger with an infallible system for roulette!

Perhaps his mood communicated itself to the accelerator. At any rate,
the Mercury seemed to sympathize, and it was a lucky hazard that kept
the glorious stretch of roa