"Unkind!" repeated Isabel, opening her eyes. "Why he has been charming. He has been showing me the garden." She looked across at Guy with that frank, curiously attractive smile of hers. "I don't think we have quarrelled once, have we, Mr. Guy?" "Certainly not," said Guy with what seemed unnecessary warmth. "I am so glad," observed Tony contentedly. "It always distresses me when relations can't get on together." He let go Isabel's hand and looked at his watch. "How do you feel about a run in the car?" he inquired. "It's just ten minutes past twelve now, and we could get to Cookham comfortably for lunch by one o'clock." "I should love it," said Isabel gaily. "I don't know in the least where Cookham is, but it sounds a splendid place to lunch at." Tony looked at her with approval. "I am glad you like making bad puns, Isabel," he said. "It's a sure sign of a healthy and intelligent mind." He led the way round to the front of the house, where they found the Hispano-Suiza still decorating the drive, with Jennings bending over the open bonnet. The chauffeur looked up and grudgingly touched his cap as they approached. "Came down to see if you would be wanting either of the other cars," he observed. "What do you think, Isabel?" inquired Tony. "Will this do, or would you rather have something more comfortable?" She glanced with admiration over the tapering lines of the slim racing body. "Oh, let's have this one," she said. "I love to go fast." Guy gave a slight shudder. "For goodness' sake don't say that to Tony. It's a direct encouragement to suicide." Isabel laughed cheerfully. She seemed quite a different person from the highly strung, frightened girl whom Tony had rescued in Long Acre. She buttoned her coat, and stepped lightly into the seat alongside of Tony, who had already taken his place at the wheel. "As a matter of cold truth," he observed, "I am a very careful driver. If there's likely to be trouble I never run any unnecessary risks, do I, Jennings?" "I can't say, sir," replied Jennings sourly. "I always shuts me eyes." Isabel laughed again and settling herself comfortably back in the seat, waved her hand to Guy as the car slid off down the drive. Tony always drove well, but like most good drivers he had his particular days. This was certainly one of them. During the earlier part of the journey, from Hampstead to Hammersmith, his progress verged upon the miraculous. The Hispano glided in and out of the traffic like some slim white premiere danseuse threading her way through the mazes of a ballet, the applause of an audience being supplied by the occasional compliments from startled bus-drivers which floated after them through the receding air.