“That,” she said, “has just done it.”

I opened the door and stepped down into the road.

“It means a delay when we least want it,” said I ruefully.

“Worse.  I’ve had one burst already, and I only brought one spare wheel.”

I whistled.

“Then we are indeed done,” said I.  “I’m awfully sorry.  Heaven knows how far you are from your home.  This comes of helping a comparative stranger.  Let it be a lesson to you.”

My companion smiled.

“I don’t mind for myself,” she said, “but what about your car?”

I spread out my hands.

“Reason dictates that I should foot-slog it to Bloodstock and try and get the police moving; but I can’t leave you here.”

“You can easily, but you’re not going to.  I don’t want to sit here for the rest of the day.”  She pointed to the barn.  “Help me to get her in here, and then we’ll push off to Bloodstock together.”

A hurried reconnaissance led to the discovery of a little farmhouse, and two minutes later I was making urgent representations to the owner of the barn.  To our relief the latter proved sympathetic and obliging, and before we again took to the road the two-seater was safely under lock and key.

“And now,” said Miss Deriot, “how did it happen?”

“The theft?  I can’t imagine.  We left that fool who yelled at us in charge.  I suppose he left her to get a drink or something.  This is only the fourth time we’ve had her out,” I added gloomily.

“Oh, I say!  Never mind.  You’re bound to get her again.  Look at that meadow-sweet.  Isn’t it lovely?  I wish I could paint.  Can you?”

“I painted a key-cupboard once.  It was hung, too.  Outside the stillroom.”

“Pity you didn’t keep it up,” said Miss Deriot.  “It’s a shame to waste talent like that.  Isn’t it just broiling?  I should love a bathe now.”

“I hope you don’t wear stockings in the water,” said I.

Miss Deriot glanced at her white ankles.

“Is that a reflection?” she demanded.

I shook my head.

“By no manner of means.  But there’s a place for everything, isn’t there?  I mean——­”

We both laughed.

“That’s better,” said my companion.  “I couldn’t bear to see you so worried this beautiful morning.”

“My dear,” said I, “you’ve a nice kind heart, and I thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Miss Deriot.

From the crown of her broad-brimmed hat to the soles of her buckskin shoes she was the pink of daintiness.  Health was springing in her fresh cheeks, eagerness danced in her eyes, energy leapt from her carriage.  Had she been haughty, you would have labelled her “Diana,” and have done with it; but her eyes were gentle, and there was a tenderness about her small mouth that must have pardoned Actaeon.  A plain gold wrist-watch on a black silk strap was all her jewellery.

“We’d better strike across the next field,” said Miss Deriot.  “There’s a path that’ll bring us out opposite The Thatcher.  It’ll save us about five minutes.”