e
other side isn't looking. But I'm not flirting with _you_."

"Why should you waste your time flirting with a wretched chauffeur?"

"Yes, why? Especially as I've other things to think of. But I don't
_want_ your advice about those things now. I wouldn't have it even if
you begged me to. You've been too unkind."

"I beg your pardon, with all my heart," he said, his voice like itself
again. "I'm a brute, I know! It's that beastly temper of mine, that is
always getting me into trouble--with myself and others. Do forgive me,
and let me help you. I want to very much."

"I just said I wouldn't if you begged."

"I don't beg. I insist. I'll inflict my advice on you, whether you like
it or not. It's this: get the man out of Avignon the first thing
to-morrow morning."

"That's easy to say!"

"And easy to do--I hope. What would be his first act, do you think, if
he got a wire from you, dated Genoa, and worded something like this:
'Hear you are following me. I send this to Avignon on chance, to tell
you persecution must cease or I will find means to protect myself. Lys
d'Angely.'"

"I think he'd hurry off to Genoa as fast as he could go--by train,
leaving his car, or sending it on by rail. But how could I date a
telegram from Genoa?"

"I know a man there who--"

"Elise, I'm astonished at you!" exclaimed the shocked voice of Lady
Turnour. "Talking in corridors with strange young men! and you've been
out, too, without my permission, and _with_ my jewel-bag! How dare you?"

"I haven't been out," I ventured to contradict.

"Then you were going out--"

"And I had no intention of going out--"

"Don't answer me back like that! I won't stand it. What are you doing in
your hat, done up in a thick veil, too, at this time of night, as if you
were afraid of being recognized?"

I had to admit to myself that appearances were dreadfully against me. I
didn't see how I could give any satisfactory explanation, and while I
was fishing wildly in my brain without any bait, hoping to catch an
inspiration, the chauffeur spoke for me.

"If your ladyship will permit me to explain," he began, more
respectfully than I'd heard him speak to anyone yet, "it is my fault
ma'mselle is dressed as she is."

"What on earth is he going to say?" I wondered wildly, as he paused an
instant for Lady Turnour's consent, which perhaps an amazed silence
gave. I believed that he didn't know himself what to say.

"I wanted your ladyship's maid, when she