consciousness, lurked a doubt--but that was successfully stifled for
the hour.

Indeed, her wits were trying to solve a minor puzzle. Her woman's eye
had seen and her quick brain was marveling at certain details in
Medenham's costume. There are conditions, even in England, in which a
flannel suit is hard to obtain, and the manner of their coming to
Symon's Yat seemed to preclude the buying of ready-made garments, a
solution which would occur to an American instantly. Yet here was that
incomprehensible chauffeur clad in the correct regalia of the Thames
Rowing Club, though Cynthia, of course, did not recognize the colors.

"How did you manage it?" she asked, wide-eyed and smiling.

"I hunted through the hotels and met a man about my own size who was
just off to town," he said.

"But--there are gaps."

"I thought they fitted rather well. In fact, he was slightly the
stouter of the two."

"Don't be stupid. The gaps are in your story. Did you borrow or buy?"

"I borrowed. Luckily, he was a decent fellow, and there was no
trouble."

"Did you know him?"

"By name only."

"Do Englishmen lend their clothes to promiscuous strangers?"

"More, much more; they give them at times."

She was silent for a few seconds. He had persuaded her that oars were
preferable to sails on such a still night, especially as he was not
acquainted with the shallows, but he had not explained that if he
rowed and she steered he would be able to gaze his fill at her.

"What colors are those?" she demanded suddenly.

"I ought to have told you that I happened to find a member of the club
to which I belong," he countered. Then, before she could pin him down
to a definite statement, he tried to carry the war into the enemy's
country.

"By the way, I hope I am not presuming on the fact that you have
consented to take this little excursion, Miss Vanrenen, but may I ask
how _you_ contrive to appear each evening in a muslin frock? Those
hold-alls on the motor are strictly utilitarian, and a mere man would
imagine that muslin could not escape being crushed."

"It doesn't. I have a maid iron it for me before dinner. At Hereford I
shall receive a fresh one from London, and send this back by post. But
fancy you noticing such a thing! Have you any sisters?"

"Yes, one."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-three."

"Dear me! A year older than me. Oh, ought I to have said 'than I'?
That always puzzles me."

"You have Milton on your side. He wrote: