t she was mistaken. As the porter had bundled her into the carriage,
the man in the corner had raised a pair of deep-set blue eyes, looked at
her for a moment with a half-startled glance, and then, with the barest
flicker of a smile, had let his eyes drop once more upon his writing-pad.
Then he crossed out the word "Kismet," which he had inadvertently written.

Diana regarded him with interest. He was probably an author, she
decided, and since a year's training as a professional singer had brought
her into contact with all kinds of people who earned their livings by
their brains, as she herself hoped to do some day, she instantly felt a
friendly interest in him. She liked, too, the shape of the hand that
held the fountain-pen; it was a slender, sensitive-looking member with
well-kept nails, and Diana always appreciated nice hands. The man's head
was bent over his work, so that she could only obtain a foreshortened
glimpse of his face, but he possessed a supple length of limb that even
the heavy travelling-rug tucked around his knees failed to disguise, and
there was a certain _soigne_ air of rightness about the way he wore his
clothes which pleased her.

Suddenly becoming conscious that she was staring rather openly, she
turned her eyes away and looked out of the window, and immediately
encountered a big broad label, pasted on to the glass, with the word
"_Reserved_" printed on it in capital letters. The letters, of course,
appeared reversed to any one inside the carriage, but they were so big
and black and hectoring that they were quite easily deciphered.

Evidently, in his violent haste to get her on board the train, the porter
had thrust her into the privacy of some one's reserved compartment that
some one being the man opposite. What a horrible predicament! Diana
felt hot all over with embarrassment, and, starting to her feet,
stammered out a confused apology.

The man in the corner raised his head.

"It does not matter in the least," he assured her indifferently. "Please
do not distress yourself. I believe the train is very crowded; you had
better sit down again."

The chilly lack of interest in his tones struck Diana with an odd sense
of familiarity, but she was too preoccupied to dwell on it, and began
hastily to collect together her dressing-case and other odds and ends.

"I'll find another seat," she said stiffly, and made her way out into the
corridor of the rocking train.

Her search, however