had arisen, she returned the smile.

"Yes, you did. And you were quite right, too," she acknowledged frankly.

He laughed outright.

"Well done!" he cried. "Not one woman in twenty will own herself in the
wrong as a rule."

Diana frowned.

"I don't agree with you at all," she bristled. "Men have a ridiculous
way of lumping all women together and then generalising about them."

"Let's discuss the question," he said gaily. "May I?" And scarcely
waiting for her permission, he deliberately moved aside her things and
seated himself opposite her.

"But you were busy writing," she protested.

He threw an indifferent glance in the direction of his writing-pad, where
it lay on the seat in the corner.

"Was I?" he answered calmly. "Sometimes there are better things to do
than scribbling--pleasanter ones, anyway."

Diana flushed. It certainly was an unusual thing to do, to get into
conversation with an unknown man with whom one chanced to be travelling,
and she had never before committed such a breach of the
conventions--would have been shocked at the bare idea of it--but there