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 shore 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