r fingers clung to
his.

"All the way home from Spain, I have been remembering that I really was
betrothed to you this whole year," she answered, not turning from him
the innocent candor of her clear gaze. "Before that, before I knew the
truth, I used to think how strange a thing it would have been if you had
died in the accident and I had lived all the rest of my life believing
myself promised to you, when in fact you had loved Isabel, not me. I
used to think, often, of that first day when I fell on the stairs at the
Beach race track--when you caught me and held me close to you--and how
you would never again hold me like that or miss not doing so. I am quite
sure that no one ever was wanted so much as I have wanted you. It may
not be right to tell this even to you, but it is true. And I will marry
you whenever you ask, Allan."

Allan Gerard, man of the practical world and the twentieth century, went
to his knee on the floor of the hotel parlor and hid his face against
her hand.

The room was rosy with the glow of sunset, when someone discreetly
knocked. In response to Gerard's invitation to enter, the door opened
and revealed the wiry, jersey-clad form of Rupert on the threshold.
Grimy yet from his recent employment, he was engaged in deftly winding a
strip of antiseptic gauze around his wrist while he spoke.

"I ain't one to invite li'l' Artha' Brownskin to meet the A.M.A. on
Sunday," he began discontentedly, and broke off at sight of Flavia.

"I don't need to introduce you to Miss Rose," smiled Gerard. "What have
you done to your wrist? Much?"

"Scratched it threading my sewing-machine; I'll be able to sit up in bed
to-morrow," reassured the mechanician, his acute black eyes travelling
from the young girl to his chief. "I didn't mean to run into this camp
without being signalled. As I was saying, I ain't one to promote
trouble, but there's a gentleman downstairs who's calling off our race."

"_What?_"

"Mr. Rose is explaining to our driver that he ain't fit to be allowed on
a race course. And no one's opposing his remarks any."

Gerard divined the situation.

"Go down," Flavia begged, as he turned to her. "I have been selfish to
keep you here; I might have known! But I saw Corrie just for a moment,
then father sent me to you. Go to Corrie; Mr. Rupert will bring me."

"I can guess that I'm a fierce bad postman," Rupert dryly acknowledged.
"But I ain't likely to confuse ladies on the way downstairs. You're