I would have known Molly’s mushroom among a thousand.  It was small, round, compact, and of a dark cream colour.  This mushroom was flatter, wider, more expansive, with an exceedingly slender stem; and in tint it was of a pale silvery grey.  It grew up straight and slim in the tonneau of the car, all alone, unaccompanied by any similar growths, or any guardian goblins; and several servants of the hotel were grouped about, waiting to see it off.

I waited, too, sniffing adventure with the scent of petrol, and interested in the resemblance to that good Dragon with which I had been friends; but I was about to turn away at last when a form which had evidently been squatting behind the car on the other side, rose to its feet.  It was that of Gotteland, and had he been a long-lost uncle from Australia with his pockets crammed with wills in my favour, I could not have been more delighted to see him.

As I rushed forward to claim him as my own, Molly and Jack came out of the hotel.

“Monty!” Jack cried, with a sincerity of joy which warmed my heart.  As for his wife, she cried not at all, but merely gasped.

“What luck for me!” I exclaimed, shaking both Molly’s hands so hard that it was fortunate (as she remarked afterwards) that she had on “only her rainy-day rings.”  “I did hope to hear of you at Grenoble, but scarcely dared think of actually meeting you, even there.  In two minutes more I should have been on the way to catch my train.”

“Here’s your train, old man,” said Jack, indicating the throbbing automobile.

“My one true love, Mercedes,” I remarked, looking fondly at the car.

“Sh!” whispered Molly, with an odd little sound which was like a giggle strangled at birth.  “She’s there.”

“Who?” I started, bewildered.

“Mercedes.”

“I know; the darling!  I long to have my hands on her again.”

“Oh, Lord Lane, do be careful!  You don’t understand.  I mean the real Mercedes.  The girl who gave me the car.  She’s sitting there.  She’ll hear you.”

“It’s all right,” said Jack.  “The motor’s making such a row, she wouldn’t catch the words.”

“She joined us h—­lately,” explained Molly hurriedly.

“I remember now.  You used to talk rather a lot about her and want us to meet.”

“Well, you have your wish now, dearie,” Jack chimed in.  “You can introduce them with your own fair hand.”

“Wait—­wait.”  Molly whispered piteously, as Jack would have taken a step forward, and pulled me with him, a peculiarly dare-devil look in his handsome eyes.  “For goodness’ sake, Jack!”

Her voice restrained him, and again we were in conclave.  “You see, Lord Lane, it’s rather awkward.  We want you to go on with us, immensely, but——­”

“You’re awfully good,” I hastily cut in.  “But I quite see, and I couldn’t think of——­”