as magnificent, and
the road all the way to Millau beautiful in the sunset, it was no longer
_our_ gorge, or _our_ road. That made a difference!

CHAPTER XXIV

There was a telegram from "Bertie" at Millau. The invitation to the
chateau where he was stopping near Clermont-Ferrand, had been asked for
and given. I heard all about it, of course, from the conversation
between the bride and groom; for Lady Turnour prides herself on
discussing things in my presence, as if I were deaf or a piece of
furniture. She has the idea that this trick is a habit of the "smart
set"; and she would allow herself to be tarred and feathered, in
Directoire style, if she could not be smart at smaller cost.

Nothing was ever more opportune than that telegram, for her ladyship had
burnt her frock and chilled her liver in the boat, and though the hotel
at Millau was good, she arrived there with the evident intention of
making life a burden to Sir Samuel. The news from Bertie changed all
that, however; and though the weather was like the breath of icebergs
next morning, Lady Turnour was warmed from within. She chatted
pleasantly with Sir Samuel about the big luggage which had gone on to
Clermont-Ferrand, and asked his advice concerning the becomingness of
various dresses. The one unpleasant thing she allowed herself to say,
was that "certainly Bertie wasn't doing this for nothing," and that his
stepfather might take her word for it, Bertie would be neither slow nor
shy in naming his reward. But Sir Samuel only grinned, and appeared
rather amused than otherwise at the shrewdness of his wife's insight
into the young man's character.

I was conscious that my jacket hadn't been made for motoring, when I
came out into the sharp morning air and took my place in the Aigle. I
was inclined to envy my mistress her fur rugs, but to my surprise I saw
lying on my seat a Scotch plaid, plaider than any plaid ever made in
Scotland.

"Does that belong to the hotel?" I asked the chauffeur, as he got into
the car.

"It belongs to you," said he. "A present from Millau for a good child."

"Oh, you mustn't!" I exclaimed.

"But I have," he returned, calmly. "I'm not going to watch you slowly
freezing to death by my side; for it won't be exactly summer to-day. Let
me tuck you in prettily."

I groaned while I obeyed. "I've been an expense to you all the way,
because you wouldn't abandon me to the lions, even in the most expensive
hotels, where I knew yo