The Sector hesitated.

"I don't know about that, Di. Don't you think it would look rather unfriendly on the part of you girls? Rather snubby, eh?"

That was precisely what Diana, had thought, and the reflection had afforded her no small satisfaction. She wanted to hit back--and hit hard--and now Pobs' kindly, hospitable nature was unconsciously putting the brake on the wheel of retribution.

She shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference.

"Oh, well, you and Joan can call. I don't think actresses, and authors who love them and write plays for them, are much in my line," she replied distantly.

It would seem as though Joan's dictum that presentiments, like dreams, go by contraries, had been founded upon the rock of experience, for, in truth, Diana's premonition that something delightful was about to happen to her had been fulfilled in a sorry fashion.

CHAPTER VI

THE AFTERMATH OF AN ADVENTURE

Diana awoke with a start. Before sleep had overtaken her she had been lying on a shallow slope of sand, leaning against a rock, with her elbow resting on its flat surface and her book propped up in front of her.

Gradually the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves on the sh.o.r.e had lulled her into slumber--the _plop_ as they broke in eddies of creaming foam, and then the sibilant _hush-sh-sh_--like a long-drawn sigh--as the water receded only to gather itself afresh into a crested billow.

Scarcely more than half awake she sat up and stared about her, dreamily wondering how she came to be there. She felt very stiff, and the arm on which she had been leaning ached horribly. She rubbed it a little, dully conscious of the pain, and as the blood began to course through the veins again, the sharp, p.r.i.c.king sensation commonly known as "pins and needles"

aroused her effectually, and she recollected that she had walked out to Culver Point and established herself in one of the numerous little bays that fringed the foot of the great red cliff, intending to spend a pleasant afternoon in company with a new novel. And then the Dustman (idling about until his duties proper should commence in the evening) had come by and touched her eyelids and she had fallen fast asleep.

But she was thoroughly wide awake now, and she looked round her with a rather startled expression, realising that she must have slept for some considerable time, for the sun, which had been high in the heavens, had already dipped towards the horizon and was shedding a rosy track of light across the surface of the water. The tide, too, had come up a long way since she had dozed off into slumber, and waves were now breaking only a few yards distant from her feet.

She cast a hasty glance to right and left, where the arms of the little cove stretched out to meet the sea, strewn with big boulders clothed in sh.e.l.l and seaweed. But there were no rocks to be seen. The grey water was lapping lazily against the surface of the cliff itself and she was cut off on either side.

For a minute or so her heart beat unpleasantly fast; then, with a quick sense of relief, she recollected that only at spring tides was the little bay where she stood entirely under water. There was no danger, she reflected, but nevertheless her position was decidedly unenviable. It was not yet high tide, so it would be some hours at least before she would be able to make her way home, and meanwhile the sun was sinking fast, it was growing unpleasantly cold, and she was decidedly hungry. In the course of another hour or two she would probably be hungrier still, but with no nearer prospect of dinner, while the Rector and Joan would be consumed with anxiety as to what had become of her.

Anxiously she scanned the sea, hoping she might sight some homing fishing-boat which she could hail, but no welcome red or brown sail broke the monotonous grey waste of water, and in hopes of warming herself a little she began to walk briskly up and down the little beach still keeping a sharp look-out at sea for any pa.s.sing boat.

An interminable hour crawled by. The sun dipped a little lower, flinging long streamers of scarlet and gold across the sea. Far in the blue vault of the sky a single star twinkled into view, while a little sighing breeze arose and whispered of coming night.

Diana shivered in her thin blouse. She had brought no coat with her, and, now that the mist was rising, she felt chilled to the bone, and she heartily anathematised her carelessness for getting into such a sc.r.a.pe.

And then, all at once, across the water came the welcome sound of a human voice:--

"Ahoy! Ahoy there!"

A small brown boat and the figure of the man in it, resting on his oars, showed sharply etched against the background of the sunset sky.

Diana waved her handkerchief wildly and the man waved back, promptly setting the boat with her nose towards the ch.o.r.e and sculling with long, rhythmic strokes that speedily lessened the distance between him and the eager figure waiting at the water's edge.

As he drew nearer, Diana was struck by something oddly familiar in his appearance, and when he glanced back over his shoulder to gauge his distance from the sh.o.r.e, she recognised with a sudden shocked sense of dismay that the man in the boat was none other than Max Errington!

She retreated a few steps hastily, and stood, waiting, tense with misery and discomfort. Had it still been possible she would have signalled to him to go on and leave her; the bare thought of being indebted to him--to this man who had coolly cut her in the street--for escape from her present predicament filled her with helpless rage.

But it was too late. Errington gave a final pull, shipped his oars, and, as the boat rode in on the top of a wave, leaped out on the sh.o.r.e and beached her safely. Then he turned and strode towards Diana, his face wearing just that same concerned, half-angry look that it had done when he found her, shortly after the railway collision, trying to help the woman who had lost her child.

"What in the name of heaven and earth are you doing here?" he demanded brusquely.

Apparently he had entirely forgotten the more recent episode of Easter Sunday and was prepared to scold her roundly, exactly as he had done on that same former occasion. The humour of the situation suddenly caught hold of Diana, and for the moment she, too, forgot that she had reason to be bitterly offended with this man.

"Waiting for you to rescue me--as usual," she retorted frivolously. "You seem to be making quite a habit of it."

He smiled grimly.

"I'm making a virtue of necessity," he flung back at her. "What on earth do your people mean by letting you roam about by yourself like this?

You're not fit to be alone! As though a railway accident weren't sufficient excitement for any average woman, you must needs try to drown yourself. Are you so particularly anxious to get quit of this world?"

"Drown myself?" she returned scornfully. "How could I--when the sea doesn't come up within a dozen yards of the cliff except at spring tide?"

"And I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that this is a spring tide?" he said drily. "In another hour or so there'll be six feet of water where we're standing now."

The abrupt realisation that once again she had escaped death by so narrow a margin shook her for a moment, and she swayed a little where she stood, while her face went suddenly very white.

In an instant his arm was round her, supporting her. "I oughtn't to have told you," he said hastily. "Forgive me. You're tired--and, merciful heavens! child, you're half-frozen. Your teeth are chattering with cold."

He stripped off his coat and made as though to help her on with it.

"No--no," she protested. "I shall be quite warm directly. Please put on your coat again."

He shook his head, smiling down at her, and taking first one of her arms, and then the other, he thrust them into the empty sleeves, putting the coat on her as one would dress a child.

"I'm used to having my own way," he observed coolly, as he proceeded to b.u.t.ton it round her.

"But you?--" she faltered, looking at the thin silk of his shirt.

"I'm not a lady with a beautiful voice that must be taken care of. What would Signor Baroni say to this afternoon's exploit?"

"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" Diana asked curiously.

The intensely blue eyes swept over her face.

"No," he replied shortly, "I haven't forgotten."

In silence he helped her into the boat, and she sat quietly in the stern as he bent to his oars and sent the little skiff speeding homewards towards the harbour.

She felt strangely content. The fact that he had deliberately refused to recognise her seemed a matter of very small moment now that he had spoken to her again--scolding her and enforcing her obedience to his wishes in that oddly masterful way of his, which yet had something of a possessive tenderness about it that appealed irresistibly to the woman in her.

Arrived at the quay of the little harbour, he helped her up the steps, slimy with weed and worn by the ceaseless lapping of the water, and the firm clasp of his hand on hers conveyed a curious sense of security, extending beyond just the mere safety of the moment. She had a feeling that there was something immutably strong and sure about this man--a calm, steadfast self-reliance to which one could unhesitatingly trust.

His voice broke in abruptly on her thoughts.

"My car's waiting at the quayside," he said. "I shall drive you back to the Rectory."

Diana a.s.sented--not, as she thought to herself with a somewhat wry smile, that it would have made the very slightest difference had she refused point-blank. Since he had decided that she was to travel in his car, travel in it she would, w.i.l.l.y-nilly. But as a matter of fact, she was so tired that she was only too thankful to sink back on to the soft, luxurious cushions of the big limousine.