hamefacedly, she told
him what had happened.

"Of course it was an accident," she insisted, "in fact, Mr. and Miss
Briggerland were almost knocked down by the car. But you don't know how
thankful I am your Mr. Jaggs was on the spot."

"Where is he now?" asked Jack.

"I don't know," replied the girl. "He just limped away without another
word and I did not see him again, though I thought I caught a glimpse of
him as I came into this house last night. How did he come to be on the
spot?" she asked curiously.

"That is easily explained," replied Jack. "I told the old boy not to let
you out of his sight from sundown to sun up."

"Then you think I'm safe during the day?" she rallied him.

He nodded.

"I don't know whether to laugh at you or to be very angry," she said,
shaking her head reprovingly. "Of course it was an accident!"

"I disagree with you," said Jack. "Did you catch a glimpse of the
chauffeur?"

"No," she said in surprise. "I didn't think of looking at him."

He nodded.

"If you had, you would probably have seen an old friend, namely, the
gentleman who carried you off from the Erving Theatre," he said quietly.

It was difficult for Lydia to analyse her own feelings. She knew that
Jack Glover was wrong, monstrously wrong. She was perfectly confident
that his fantastic theory had no foundation, and yet she could not get
away from his sincerity. Remembering Jean's description of him as "a
little queer" she tried to fit that description into her knowledge of
him, only to admit to herself that he had been exceptionally normal as
far as she was concerned. The suggestion that his object was mercenary,
and that he looked upon her as a profitable match for himself, she
dismissed without consideration.

"Anyway, I like your Mr. Jaggs," she said.

"Better than you like me, I gather from your tone," smiled Jack. "He's
not a bad old boy."

"He is a very strong old boy," she said. "He lifted me as though I were
a feather--I don't know now how I escaped. The steering gear went
wrong," she explained unnecessarily.

"Dear me," said Jack politely, "and it went right again in time to
enable the chauffeur to keep clear of Briggerland and his angel
daughter!"

She gave a gesture of despair.

"You're hopeless," she said. "These things happened in the dark ages;
men and women do not assassinate one another in the twentieth century."

"Who told you that?" he demanded. "Human nature hasn't changed for two
thousan