She opened her campaign at once.

“Surely we must be almost at the Rectory by now?” she began in politely conventional tones.

A sudden gleam of wicked mirth flashed across his face.

“Has the time, then, seemed so long?” he demanded coolly.

Diana’s lips trembled in the vain effort to repress a smile.  The man was impossible!  It was also very difficult, she found, to remain righteously angry with such an impossible person.

If he saw the smile, he gave no indication of it.  Rubbing the window with his hand he peered out.

“I think we are just turning in at the Rectory gates,” he remarked carelessly.

In another minute the motor had throbbed to a standstill and the chauffeur was standing at the open door.

“I’m sorry we’ve been so long coming, sir,” he said, touching his hat.  “I took a wrong turning—­lost me way a bit.”

Then as Errington and Diana passed into the house, he added thoughtfully, addressing his engine:—­

“She’s a pretty little bit of skirt and no mistake.  I wonder, now, if we was lost long enough, eh, Billy?”

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.  Is it, Joan?”

“Oh, no.  I think there’ll be some surviving remnants,” she assured him.

“Then if you’ll overlook any discrepancies,” pursued Stair, smiling at Errington, “do stay.”

“Say, rather, if you’ll overlook discrepancies,” answered Errington, smiling back—­there was something infectious about Stair’s geniality.  “I’m afraid a boiled shirt is out of the question—­unless I go home to fetch it!”

Diana stared at him.  Was he really going to stay—­to accept the invitation—­after all that had occurred?  If he did, she thought scornfully, it was only in keeping with that calm arrogance of his by which he allocated to himself the right to do precisely as he chose, irrespective of convention—­or of other people’s feelings.