Dora went wearily up to her bedroom, and, sitting down, reviewed the recent conversation. She could not make out how, or why, or where they had begun to quarrel. Yet they had certainly not only begun but made very fair progress, considering the time at their disposal. It had all been Charlie's fault. He must be fond of that girl after all; if so, it was not likely that she would let him see that she minded. Let him go to Mary Travers, if--if he liked that sort of prim creature. She, Dora Bellairs, would not interfere. She would have no difficulty in finding someone who did care for her. Poor John! How happy he looked when he saw her! It was quite touching. He really looked almost--almost. To her sudden annoyance and alarm she found herself finishing the sentence thus, "almost as Charlie did at Avignon." "Oh, he's worth a thousand of Charlie," she exclaimed, impatiently. At half-past four Sir Roger Deane was waiting; in the hall. Presently Dora appeared. "Where are the others?" she asked. "Charlie's having a drink. Your father and Maud aren't coming. They're going to rest." "Oh, well, we might start." "Excuse me, Miss Dora, there's some powder on your nose." "Oh, is there? Thanks." "What have you been powdering for?" "Really, Sir Roger! Besides the sun has ruined my complexion." "Oh, the sun," "Yes. Don't be horrid. Do let's start." "But Charlie--" "I hate riding three in a cab." "Oh, and I like riding alone in one, so----" "No, no. You must come with me. Mr. Ellerton can follow us. He's always drinking, isn't he? I dislike it so." Sir Roger, with a wink at an unresponsive plaster bust of M. le President, followed her to the door. They had just got into their little victoria when Charlie appeared, cigarette in hand. "Charlie," observed Deane, "Miss Bell airs thinks you'll be more comfortable by yourself than perched on this front seat." "Especially as you're smoking," added Dora. "Allez, cocher." Charlie hailed another vehicle and got in. As he did so he remarked between his teeth, "I'm d----d if I stand it." CHAPTER XI A DYNAMITE OUTRAGE On one side of the Lake Dora mid John walked together, on the other Mary and Charlie. Miss Bussey and Roger Deane sat in the garden of the cafe. The scene round them was gay. Carriages constantly drove up, discharging daintily attired ladies and their cavaliers. There was a constant stream of bicycles, some of them steered by fair riders in neat bloomer-suits; the road-waterers spread a grateful coolness in their ambit, for the afternoon was hot for the time of year, and the dust had an almost autumnal volume. Miss Bussey had been talking for nearly ten minutes on end, and now she stopped with an exhausted air, and sipped her coffee. Deane lit another cigar and sat silently looking on at the life that passed and repassed before him. "It's a curious story," he observed at last. "Very; but I suppose it's all ended happily now. Look at them, Sir Roger." "Oh, I see them."