An interminable hour crawled by.  The sun dipped a little lower, flinging long streamers of scarlet and gold across the sea.  Far in the blue vault of the sky a single star twinkled into view, while a little sighing breeze arose and whispered of coming night.

Diana shivered in her thin blouse.  She had brought no coat with her, and, now that the mist was rising, she felt chilled to the bone, and she heartily anathematised her carelessness for getting into such a scrape.

And then, all at once, across the water came the welcome sound of a human voice:—­

“Ahoy!  Ahoy there!”

A small brown boat and the figure of the man in it, resting on his oars, showed sharply etched against the background of the sunset sky.

Diana waved her handkerchief wildly and the man waved back, promptly setting the boat with her nose towards the chore and sculling with long, rhythmic strokes that speedily lessened the distance between him and the eager figure waiting at the water’s edge.

As he drew nearer, Diana was struck by something oddly familiar in his appearance, and when he glanced back over his shoulder to gauge his distance from the shore, she recognised with a sudden shocked sense of dismay that the man in the boat was none other than Max Errington!

She retreated a few steps hastily, and stood, waiting, tense with misery and discomfort.  Had it still been possible she would have signalled to him to go on and leave her; the bare thought of being indebted to him—­to this man who had coolly cut her in the street—­for escape from her present predicament filled her with helpless rage.

But it was too late.  Errington gave a final pull, shipped his oars, and, as the boat rode in on the top of a wave, leaped out on the shore and beached her safely.  Then he turned and strode towards Diana, his face wearing just that same concerned, half-angry look that it had done when he found her, shortly after the railway collision, trying to help the woman who had lost her child.

“What in the name of heaven and earth are you doing here?” he demanded brusquely.

Apparently he had entirely forgotten the more recent episode of Easter Sunday and was prepared to scold her roundly, exactly as he had done on that same former occasion.  The humour of the situation suddenly caught hold of Diana, and for the moment she, too, forgot that she had reason to be bitterly offended with this man.

“Waiting for you to rescue me—­as usual,” she retorted frivolously.  “You seem to be making quite a habit of it.”

He smiled grimly.

“I’m making a virtue of necessity,” he flung back at her.  “What on earth do your people mean by letting you roam about by yourself like this?  You’re not fit to be alone!  As though a railway accident weren’t sufficient excitement for any average woman, you must needs try to drown yourself.  Are you so particularly anxious to get quit of this world?”