It was Baron Tregar.
Philip leaped to his feet, reddening.
"Excellency!" he stammered.
"Pray be seated!" exclaimed the Baron with sympathy.

"Such a disturbing experience as you have had affords one privileges." "Permit me," said Philip uncomfortably to Diane, "to present my chief, Baron Tregar.

Excellency, Miss Westfall, to whom I am eternally indebted." And Philip's eyes sparkled with laughter as he uttered her name.
There was an old world courtliness in the Baron's bow and murmured salutation.
"Ah," said he with gallant regret, "Fate, Miss Westfall, has never seen fit to temper misfortune so pleasantly for me.

Poynter, you have been exceedingly fortunate." Diane laughed softly.

It was hers to triumph now.
"_Mr.Poynter_," she said with relish, flashing a sidelong glance at that discomfited young man, "Mr.Poynter has been good enough to make the chowder.