something
approaching to horror. It was Mrs. Rushmore, who had presumably taken a
fancy for an airing as the day had turned out very fine. The coachman
and groom had both seen Margaret and supposed that something had
happened to the car.

Before the carriage had stopped Mrs. Rushmore had recognised Margaret
too, and was leaning out sideways, uttering loud exclamations of
anxiety.

'My dear child!' she cried. 'Good heavens! An accident! These dreadful
automobiles! I knew it would happen!'

Portly though she was, she was standing beside Margaret in an instant,
clasping her in a motherly embrace and panting for breath. It was
evidently too late for Logotheti to draw his glasses and shield over
his face, or for Lushington to escape. Each stood stock-still,
wondering how long it would be before Mrs. Rushmore recognised him, and
trying to think what she would say when she did. For one moment, it
seemed as if nothing were going to happen, for Mrs. Rushmore was too
much preoccupied on Margaret's account to take the slightest notice of
either of the others.

'Are you quite sure you're not hurt?' she inquired anxiously, while she
scrutinised Margaret's blushing face. 'Get into the carriage with me at
once, my dear, and we'll drive home. You must go to bed at once!
There's nothing so exhausting as a shock to the nerves! Camomile tea,
my dear! Good old-fashioned camomile tea, you know! There's nothing
like it! Clotilde makes it to perfection, and she shall rub you
thoroughly! Get in, child! Get in!'

Quick to see the advantage of such a sudden escape, Margaret was
actually getting into the carriage, when Mrs. Rushmore, who was
kindness itself, remembered the two men and turned to Logotheti.

'I will leave you my groom to help,' she said, in her stiff French.

Then her eyes fell on Lushington's blood-stained face, and in the same
instant it flashed upon her that the other man was Logotheti. Her jaw
dropped in astonishment.

'Why--good gracious--how's this? Why--it's Monsieur Logotheti himself!
But you'--she turned to Lushington again 'you can't be Mr.
Lushington--good Lord--yes, you are, and in those clothes, too.
And--what have you done to your face?'

As her surprise increased she became speechless, while the two men
bowed and smiled as pleasantly as they could under the circumstances.

'Yes, I'm Lushington,' said the Englishman. 'I used to wear a beard.'

'My chauffeur was taken ill suddenly,' said the Greek without