Joan's common-sense remonstrance on the score of dew-drenched grass,
flung on a cloak and wandered restlessly out into the moonlit garden.
She felt that it would be an utter impossibility to sit still, waiting
until the men came into the drawing-room, and she paced slowly backwards
and forwards across the lawn, a slight, shadowy figure in the patch of
silver light.

Presently she saw the French window of the dining-room open, and Max
Errington step across the threshold and come swiftly over the lawn
towards her.

"I see you are bent on courting rheumatic fever--to say nothing of a sore
throat," he said quietly, "and I've come to take you indoors."

Diana was instantly filled with a perverse desire to remain where she was.

"I'm not in the least cold, thank you," she replied stiffly, "And--I like
it out here."

"You may not be cold," he returned composedly. "But I'm quite sure your
feet are damp. Come along."

He put his arm under hers, impelling her gently in the direction of the
house, and, rather to her own surprise, she found herself accompanying
him without further opposition.

Arrived at the house, he knelt down and, taking up her foot in his hand,
deliberately removed the little pointed slipper.

"There," he said conclusively, exhibiting its sole, dank with dew. "Go