capability as a driver increased literally by leaps and bounds.

But the end was nearer than he thought. On reaching the top of one
of those seemingly interminable land-waves, he saw a blurred object
in the hollow. Soon he distinguished Cynthia's fawn-colored dust
cloak, and his heart throbbed exultantly when the girl fluttered a
handkerchief to show that she, too, had seen.

Mrs. Devar rose and clutched the back of the seat behind him.

"I apologize, Fitzroy," she piped tremulously. "You were right. They
have lost their way and met with some accident. How glad I am that I
did not insist on your making straight for Bristol!"

Her unparalleled impudence won his admiration. Such a woman, he
thought, was worthy of a better fate than that which put her in the
position of a bought intriguer. But Cynthia was near, waving her hands
gleefully, and executing a nymph-like thanksgiving dance on a strip of
turf by the roadside, so Medenham's views of Mrs. Devar's previous
actions were tempered by conditions extraordinarily favorable to her
at the moment.

She seemed to be aware instinctively of the change in his sentiments
wrought by sight of Cynthia. It was in quite a friendly tone that she
cried:

"Count Edouard is there; but where is his man?... Something serious
must have happened, and the chauffeur has been sent to obtain help....
Oh, how lucky we hurried, and how clever of you to find out which way
the car went!"

CHAPTER VI

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S VAGARIES

Cynthia, notwithstanding that spirited _pas seul_, was rather pale
when Medenham stopped the car close beside her. She had been on
tenterhooks during the past quarter of an hour--there were silent
moments when she measured her own slim figure against the natty
Count's in half-formed resolution to take to her heels along the
Cheddar Road.

At first, she had enjoyed the run greatly. Although Dale spoke of
Smith as a mechanic, the man was a first-rate driver, and he spun the
Du Vallon along at its best speed. But the change from good macadam
to none soon made itself felt, and Cynthia was more troubled than she
cared to show when the French flier came to a standstill after panting
and jolting alarmingly among the ruts. Marigny's excited questions
evoked only unintelligible grunts from Smith; for all that, the
irritating truth could not be withheld--the petrol tank was empty; not
only had the chauffeur forgotten to fill it that morning, but, by some
strang