aughingly termed it when she was old enough to
understand financial matters, was a very welcome addition to the
slender resources provided by the value of the living.

But even had the circumstances been quite other than they were, so that
the fulfilment of Ralph Quentin's last behest, instead of being an
assistance to the household exchequer, had proved to be a drain upon
it, Alan Stair would have acted in precisely the same way--for the
simple reason that there was never any limit to his large conception of
the meaning of the word friendship and of its liabilities.

Diana had speedily carved for herself a niche of her own in the Rectory
household, so that when the exigencies of her musical training, as
viewed through Carlo Baroni's eyes, had necessitated her departure from
Crailing for a whole year, Stair and his daughter had felt her absence
keenly, and they welcomed her back with open arms.

The account of the railway accident which had attended her homeward
journey had filled them with anxiety lest she should suffer from the
effects of shock, and they had insisted that she should breakfast in
bed this first morning of her arrival, inclining to treat her rather as
though she were a semi-invalid.

"Have you been to see Diana?" asked Stair anxiously, as his daughter
joined him in the dining-room.

She shook her head.

"No need. Diana's been in to see me! There's no breakfast in bed
about her; she'll be down directly. Even her arm doesn't pain her
much."

Stair laughed.

"What a girl it is!" he exclaimed. "One would have expected her to
feel a bit shaken up after her experience yesterday."

"I fancy something else must have happened beside the railway
accident," observed Joan wisely. "Something interesting enough to have
outweighed the shock of the smash-up. She's in quite absurdly good
spirits for some unknown reason."

The Rector chuckled.

"Perhaps a gallant rescuer was added to the experience, eh?" he said.

"Perhaps so," replied his daughter, faintly smiling as she proceeded to
pour out the coffee.

Jean Stair was a typical English country girl, strictly tailor-made in
her appearance, with a predisposition towards stiff linen collars and
neat ties. In figure she was slight almost to boyishness and she had
no pretensions whatever to good looks, but there was nevertheless
something frank and wholesome and sweet about her--something of the
charm of a nice boy--that counterbalanced her undeniab