And at that instant a drop of rain splashed upon the punt. Without their noticing it the sky had become overcast. Heavy drops followed in quick succession, and then, without warning, a flash almost blinded them, and on the same instant a peal of thunder crackled overhead and all around them like rifle fire. When they had set out, early in the afternoon, the sky had been cloudless, so that neither had coats or wraps. Just in time Preston snatched up his jacket and flung it over Yootha, a moment later rain came down like a shower in the tropics. Pulling the punt in closer under the bank to get what shelter was obtainable, Preston looked down anxiously at his companion to whom his thin jacket afforded but scant protection. She was smiling up at him and looked perfectly contented, save for her anxiety about his getting drenched. And still the rain poured down. Judging by the sky, it was not going to stop very soon. Flash after flash lit up the surrounding fields, and the thunder pealed almost incessantly. And then all at once, to add to their discomfort, wind began to rise. That storm, as some may remember, was said to be the worst London had known for twenty years. It lasted throughout the night and well on into the following morning, wreaking havoc in the metropolis and in the provinces, and particularly up the Thames valley. And it was a storm which Preston and Yootha Hagerston are not likely to forget, for it broke down the barrier of reserve between them so effectually that by the time they got home that evening in a car--which Preston with great difficulty succeeded in chartering--they were to all intents engaged. Thinking over, next day, the events of the previous afternoon, Preston smiled at the thought of all that had occurred. Had anybody told him in the morning that within four-and-twenty hours he would be engaged to be married, he could have laughed the speaker to scorn. Yet, as so often happens, the seemingly impossible had come about, and he began seriously to review the situation. Yes, he was happy. Very happy. Of that he felt convinced. Often in his time he had met a girl with whom he thought he might be happy should she consent to become his wife, but he had never felt sufficiently sure of himself to propose. And now he thanked heaven for that diffidence, for he knew the only woman in the world he had ever really wanted as a wife was Yootha Hagerston. They did not meet again until the following afternoon. He had telephoned about noon to ask if she would have tea with him at his rooms in Fig Tree Court, and her reply was what might have been expected. “My darling,” he exclaimed, folding her in his arms and pressing her lips to his as they met in the little passage which his servant called “the hall.” “If you knew how happy you have made me, how I now realize that for weeks past I have wanted you to become mine--mine for ever----” He stopped, for she was sobbing, clinging to him as though she could never let him go.