“Oh, was he?  And did you force your way into his reserved compartment, may I ask?”

Diana giggled.

“I didn’t force my way into it; I was pitchforked in by a porter.  The train was packed, and I was late.  Of course I offered to go and find another seat, but there wasn’t one anywhere.”

“So the young man yielded to force majeure and allowed you to travel with him?” said the Rector, adding seriously:  “I’m very thankful he did.  To think of you—­alone—­in that awful smash! . . .  This morning’s paper says there were forty people killed.”

Diana gave a little nervous shiver, and then quite suddenly began to cry.

Stair quietly took the reins from her hand, and patted her shoulder, but he made no effort to check her tears.  He had felt worried all morning by her curious detachment concerning the accident; it was unnatural, and he feared that later on the shock which she must have received might reveal itself in some abnormal nervousness regarding railway travelling.  These tears would bring relief, and he welcomed them, allowing her to cry, comfortably leaning against his shoulder, as the pony meandered up the hilly lane which led to the Rectory.

At the gates they both descended from the trap, and Stair was preparing to lead the pony into the stable-yard when Diana suddenly flung her arms round him, kissing him impulsively.

“Oh, Pobs, dear,” she said half-laughing, half-crying.  “You’re such a darling—­you always understand everything.  I feel heaps better now, thank you.”

[1] Anglice:  foreigner.

CHAPTER V

THE SECOND MEETING

Diana threw hack the bedclothes and thrust an extremely pretty but reluctant foot over the edge of the bed.  She did not experience in the least that sensation of exhilaration with which the idea of getting up invariably seems to inspire the heroine of a novel, prompting her to spring lightly from her couch and trip across to the window to see what sort of weather the author has provided.  On the contrary, she was sorely tempted to snuggle down again amongst the pillows, but the knowledge that it wanted only half an hour to breakfast-time exercised a deterrent influence and she made her way with all haste to the bath-room, somewhat shamefully pleased to reflect that, being Easter Sunday, Pobs would be officiating at the early service, so that she would escape the long trudge down to the sea with him for their usual morning swim.

By the time she had bathed and dressed, however, she felt better able to face the day with a cheerful spirit, and the sun, streaming in through the diamond panes of her window, added a last vivifying touch and finally sent her downstairs on the best of terms with herself and the world at large.