"Was it?"

Somehow the brief question compelled an explanation, although it held no
suggestion of curiosity--nothing more than a friendly interest.

"Yes. I have a concert engagement to-morrow, and if I missed this train
I couldn't possibly make my connection at Exeter. I change on to the
South-Western line there."

"Then I'm very glad I sailed in at the crucial moment. Although you'd
have been able to reach your destination in time for the concert even had
the worst occurred to-day. You could have travelled down by an earlier
train to-morrow; if everything else had failed."

"But they've fixed a rehearsal for ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

"That certainly does complicate matters. And I suppose, in any case,
you'd rather not have to play in public immediately after a long railway
journey."

"How do you know I play?" demanded Nan. "It's just conceivable I might
be a singer!"

A distinct twinkle showed behind the monocle.

"There are quite a number of 'conceivable' things about you. But I heard
Miss Nan Davenant play several times during the war--at concerts where
special seats were allotted to the wounded. I'm sorry to say I haven't
heard you lately. I've only just come back from America."