As though to convince herself that the student life in London was a substantial reality, and not a mere figment of the imagination, she hummed a few bars of a song, and as she listened to the deep, rich notes of her voice, poised with that sureness which only comes of first-class training, she smiled a little, reflecting that if nothing else had changed, here at least was a palpable outcome of that dreamlike year.

“Bravo!” The Rector’s cheery tones broke in upon her thoughts as he came out from a neighbouring gateway and swung himself up into the trap beside her.  “Di, I’ve got to hear that voice before long.  What does Signor Baroni say about it?”

“Oh, I think he’s quite pleased,” she answered, whipping up the fat pony, who responded reluctantly.  “But he’s a fearful martinet.  He nearly frightens me to death when he gets into one of his royal Italian rages—­though he’s always particularly sweet afterwards!  Pobs, I wonder who my man in the train was?” she added inconsequently.

The Rector looked at her narrowly.  He had wondered more than a little why the shock of the railway accident had apparently affected her so slightly, and although he had joked with Joan about some possible “gallant rescuer” who might have diverted her thoughts he had really attributed it partly to the youthful resiliency of Diana’s nature, and partly to the fact that when one has narrowly escaped a serious injury, or death itself, the sense of relief is so intense as frequently to overpower for the moment every other feeling.

But now he was thrown back on the gallant rescuer theory; obviously the man, whoever he was, had impressed himself rather forcibly on Diana’s mind, and the Rector acknowledged that this was almost inevitable from the circumstances in which they had been thrown together.

“You know,” continued the girl, “I’m certain I’ve seen him before—­the day I first went to Baroni to have my voice tested.  It was in Grellingham Place, and all my songs blew away up the street, and I’m positive M.E. was the man who rescued them for me.”

“Rescuing seems to be his hobby,” commented the Rector dryly.  “Did you remind him that you had met before?”

“Yes, and he wouldn’t recollect it.”

“Wouldn’t?”

“No, wouldn’t.  I have a distinct feeling that he did remember all about it, and did recognise me again, but he wouldn’t acknowledge it and politely assured me I must be mistaken.”

The Rector smiled.

“Perhaps he has a prejudice against making the promiscuous acquaintance of beautiful young women in trains.”

Diana sniffed.

“Oh, well, if he didn’t think I was good enough to know—­” She paused.  “He had rather a superior way with him, a sort of independent, lordly manner, as though no one had a right to question anything he chose to do.  And he was in a first-class reserved compartment too.”