The Rector chuckled.

"Perhaps a gallant rescuer was added to the experience, eh?" he said.

"Perhaps so," replied his daughter, faintly smiling as she proceeded to
pour out the coffee.

Jean Stair was a typical English country girl, strictly tailor-made in
her appearance, with a predisposition towards stiff linen collars and
neat ties. In figure she was slight almost to boyishness and she had
no pretensions whatever to good looks, but there was nevertheless
something frank and wholesome and sweet about her--something of the
charm of a nice boy--that counterbalanced her undeniable plainness. As
she had once told Diana: "I'm not beautiful, so I'm obliged to be good.
You're not compelled, by the same necessity, and I may yet see you
sliding down the primrose path, whereas I shall inevitably end my days
in the odour of sanctity--probably a parish worker to some celibate
vicar!"

The Rector and Joan were half-way through their breakfast when a light
step sounded in the hall outside, and a minute later the door flew open
to admit Diana.

"Good morning, dear people," she exclaimed gaily. "Am I late? It
looks like it from the devastated appearance of the bacon dish. Pobs,
you've eaten all the breakfast!" And, she dropped, a light kiss on the
top of the Rector's head. "Ugh! Your hair's all wet with sea-water.
Why don't you dry yourself when you take a bath, Pobs dear? I'll come
with you to-morrow--not to dry you, I mean, but just to bathe."