"Found it all right, sir," he said. "One of the nuts has sheered in the differential shaft." He declared his ability, however, to set the whole thing right in the course of the next few hours. Agreeing with Mr. Haverford that it would be a good thing to get the car off the road, as it was an obstruction, Haverford did not leave the village till he had arranged to give his man all the assistance possible. This done, he lifted Camilla Lancing into the tall cart that was used to dispense the goods from the stores, and they started for the station. To exchange the luxurious armchair of the motor for a hard, slippery seat where balance was most difficult, over a rough country road, was not the most delightful experience in the world; but Camilla laughed at all discomfort. Her good nature was really marvellous. Most women would have been tired and cross and difficult. Mrs. Lancing, however, made the best of everything. Even when the station was reached, and they found they would have some time to wait, and then change trains before reaching the nearest point to Yelverton, Camilla accepted the discomfort philosophically. "I know you are dying to smoke. Leave me here; this is quite a cosy place; perhaps I will go to sleep," she said, as she passed into the waiting-room. He obeyed her reluctantly. She looked so pretty, so pathetic, with the pallor of fatigue robbing her cheeks of their usual delicate bloom. He stood looking at her with a kind of frown on his face for a moment, but he said nothing, and, to get rid of him, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the hard wooden wall. Her lips trembled as he went out and closed the door. She was a creature who lived absolutely from moment to moment; who had the knack of separating herself from the most tenacious trouble to bask in the warmth and glitter of a passing gaiety. Naturally these delightful moments were followed by spells of reaction, when her volatile spirit would sink to such depths of depression that all energy, all hope, would appear to be swamped. But she had the optimism of a gambler; let chance only give her the smallest opportunity, and she revived again. Agnes Brenton (the woman with whom she was staying and a very old friend) had once likened her to an indiarubber ball. "Camilla is an enchanting creature, a dear, sweet, womanly soul, but you can never make a lasting impression on her," she had said. "However hardly she is flung about, however sharply she may seem dented, she is bound to come smoothly to the surface again, and show no trace of what has happened." She was being sharply dented now. In this hour of fatigue and disappointment memory forced open the door she had held closed so resolutely all the day. On the morrow her visit to Yelverton would end, and she must go back to town--back to the practically impossible task of clearing her daily path of one or two hideous obstacles.