o her
afternoon nap; but Vane's sudden appearance apparently stirred some
train of thought in her mind. As he came up to her she adjusted her
trumpet and boomed, "Shoot 'em, young man--shoot 'em until there are
none left."

"Why, certainly, Miss Devereux," he shouted. "That's what I think."
She nodded her approval at meeting such a kindred spirit, and replaced
the foghorn on the ground beside her. He felt that his poor record of
dead Huns was forgiven him, and rejoined Joan with a smile.

"How easy it would be, if that was the way," she said quietly. "Dear
old Aunt Jane--I remember sitting up with her most of one night, trying
to comfort her, when her pug dog went lame on one foot."

Vane laughed, and as they came to a turn in the path, they looked back.
The old lady was already dozing gently--at peace with all the world.

CHAPTER X

"If you say one word to me this afternoon which might even be remotely
twisted into being serious," said Joan, "I shall upset you in the middle
of the lake."

An inspection of the general lines of the boat prevented Vane from taking
the threat too seriously; with anything approaching luck a party of four
could have crossed the Atlantic in it. Innumerable cushions scattered
promiscuously served to make it comfortable, and as the girl spoke Vane
from his seat in the stern was helping to push the boat from the
boat-house.

"You terrify me, lady," he murmured. "What shall I talk to you about?"

The girl was pulling lazily at the oars, and slowly they drifted out into
the sunshine. "So she who must be obeyed is Margaret Trent, is she?"

"The evidence seems a trifle slight," said Vane. "But as I rather gather
you're an insistent sort of person, I will plead guilty at once, to save
bother."

"You think I generally get my own way, do you?"

"I do," answered Vane. "Don't you?"

The girl ignored the question. "What is she like? I've often heard dad
speak about Mr. Trent; and I think she came once to Blandford, when I was
away."

"I gather that you were being finished." Vane started filling his pipe.
"At least she said so in a letter I got this morning."

Joan looked at him for a moment. "Did you write to her about me?"

"I don't think she even knows you're at home," said Vane shortly, "much
less that I've met you."

"Would you mind her knowing?" persisted the girl.

"Why on earth should I?" demanded Vane with a look of blank surprise.

She took a few strokes,