CHAPTER VII.
DIANA SINGS "I feel that we are very much indebted to you, Mr.Errington," said Stair, when he and Joan had listened to an account of the afternoon's proceedings--the major portion of them, that is.

Certain details were not included in the veracious history.

"You seem to have a happy knack of turning up just at the moment you are most needed," he added pleasantly.
"I think I must plead indebtedness to Miss Quentin for allowing me such unique opportunities of playing knight errant," replied Max, smiling.
"Such chances are rare in this twentieth century of ours, and Miss Quentin always kindly arranges so that I run no serious risks--to life and limb, at least," he added, his mocking eyes challenging Diana's.
She flushed indignantly.

Evidently he wished her to understand that that breathless moment in the car counted for nothing--must not be taken seriously.

He had only been amusing himself with her--just as he had amused himself by chatting in the train--and again a wave of resentment against him, against the cool, dominating insolence of the man, surged through her.
"I hope you'll stay and join us at dinner," the Rector was saying--"unless it's hopelessly spoilt by waiting so long.