“You have no right to run into me because you disapprove of my scarf,” she said coldly. “Will you please disengage your strange machine from mine? I hope you are insured.” He jerked his car back, there was a sound of ripping tin, a crack and a shiver of glass, and he was free. Then: “You came out of a side road at forty miles an hour--you’d have turned over certain, only I was there to catch you,” he said half-apologetically. “I hope you aren’t hurt?” She shook her head. “I am not,” she said, “but I think my employer will be when he sees the wreckage. Anyway, your end is served, Mr. Dorn, you have made my acquaintance.” He started and went a shade red. “You don’t imagine that I manœuvred this collision with the idea of getting an introduction, do you?” he almost gasped, and was thunderstruck when the girl with the grave eyes nodded. “You have been following me for months,” she said quietly. “You even took the trouble to make up to a girl in Mr. Shaddles’ office in order to arrange a meeting. I have seen you shadowing me on my way home--once you took the same ’bus--and on the only occasion I have been to a dance this year I found you in the vestibule.” Michael Dorn fiddled with the steering wheel, momentarily speechless. She was serious now, all the banter and quiet merriment in her voice had passed. Those wonderful eyes of hers were regarding him with a certain gentle reproach that was hard to endure. “Well, the truth is----” he began lamely, and found himself at a loss for words. She waited for him to finish his sentence, and then: “The truth is----” A faint smile trembled at the corner of her red mouth. “The truth is, Mr. Dorn, that it isn’t a very terrible offence for any nice man to wish to meet any girl--that I recognise. And it would be stupid in me if I pretended that I am very much annoyed. But as I told your ambassador, Miss Lizzy Smith----” He blinked rapidly. “I really do not wish to know you, and I have no doubt that she has conveyed that intelligence to you. Therefore your position is a little--what shall I say?” “Offensive is the word you’re wanting,” he said coolly. “I’ll admit that it bears that construction.” He got down slowly, walked to the side of her car, and stood, his hands resting on the arm of the seat. “I want you to believe, Miss Reddle!” he said earnestly, “that nothing is farther from my wish than to annoy you. If I hadn’t been a clumsy fool you would never have known that I was----” He stopped, at a loss for a word. It was she who supplied it, and in spite of his seriousness he laughed. “‘Dogging’ is an ugly word. I’m trying to think of something prettier,” he said. She liked the ghost of a smile that shone in his blue eyes, and had they parted then, without another word, she might have thought more kindly of him. But: “Where are you off to, on this bright autumn day?” he asked, and she stiffened. “Will you start my car, please?” she said with dignity.