“Much better,” she agreed.

And the guard, with a beaming smile, moved off to the other end of the train, administering philosophic consolation to the disturbed passengers on his way.

It was over half-an-hour before the obstruction on the line was removed and the train enabled to steam ahead once more.

Nan, strung up by the realisation of how close she had been to probable death, found herself unable to continue reading and gazed out of the window, wondering in a desultory fashion how long she would have to wait at St. David’s before the next train ran to Abbencombe.  It was impossible now for her to catch the one she had originally proposed to take.  She was faintly disquieted, too, by the fact that she could not precisely recollect noticing any later train quoted in the time-table.

The train proceeded at a cautious pace and finally pulled into St. David’s an hour late.  Nan jumped out and made enquiry of a porter, only to learn that her suspicions were true.  There was no later train to Abbencombe that day!

Rather shaken by the misadventures of the journey, she felt as though she could have screamed at the placidly good-natured porter:  “But there must be!  There must be another train!” Instead, she turned hopelessly away from him, and found herself face to face with Peter Mallory.

“In trouble again?” he asked, catching sight of her face.

She was surprised into another question, instead of a reply.

“Did you come down by this train, then, too?” she asked.

“Yes.  I travelled smoker, though.”

“So did I. At least”—­smiling—­“I converted my innocent compartment into a temporary smoker.”

But she was pleased, nevertheless, that neither their unconventional introduction, nor the fact that he had rendered her a service, had tempted him into assuming he might travel with her.  It showed a rarely sensitive perception.

“I suppose you’ve missed your connection?” he pursued.

“Yes.  That’s just it.  The last train to Abbencombe has gone, and my friends’ car was to meet me there.  I’m stranded.”

He pondered a moment.

“So am I. I must get on to Abbencombe, though, and I propose to hire a car and drive there.  Will you let me give you a lift?  Probably your chauffeur will still be at the Station.  The side-line train is a very slow one and stops at every little wayside place on the way.  To make sure, we could telephone from here to the Abbencombe station-master, asking him to tell your man to wait for you as you’re coming on by motor.”

“Oh—­” Nan almost gasped at his quick masculine grip of the situation.  Before she had time to make any answer he had gone off to see about telephoning.

It was some little time before he returned, but when he finally reappeared, his face wore an expression of humorous satisfaction.

“I’ve fixed it all,” he said.  “Your car has just arrived at Abbencombe and the chauffeur told to wait there.  I’ve got hold of another one here for our journey.  Now let me put you into it and then I’ll see about your luggage.”