foreground.

Nobody deigned to take any open notice of me, though Bertie threw me a
stealthy smile of recognition, carefully screened from Miss Nelson, but
as the Aigle was swallowing a last refreshing draught of petrol, I had
time to observe the actors in the little drama whose plot I had already
heard.

Yes, though Miss Daisy Nelson looked even prettier than I thought her
last night, I could quite believe the bilious maid's statement that she
was _une petite chatte_. Her green-gray eyes, very effective under thick
masses of auburn hair, were turned up at the outer corners in a
fascinating, sly little way; and her cupid-bow lips, which turned down
at _their_ corners, were a bit redder than Nature's formula ordains.
Nevertheless I couldn't help liking her, just as one likes a lovely,
playful Persian kitten which may rub its adorable nose against your
hand, or scratch with its naughty claws. And she was enjoying herself so
much, the pretty, expensive-looking creature! As Pamela would say, it
was evident that she was "having the time of her life," revelling in the
admiration and rivalry of the two men; delighted with her own power over
them, and her importance as a beauty and an heiress, the only unmarried
girl in the house party; amusing herself by making one man miserable and
the other happy, sending them up and down on a mental sea-saw, by turns.

As for the little Duc de Divonne, his profile is of the Roman Emperor
order, and his eyes like the last coals in a dying fire. I said to
myself that, if Miss Nelson should become a duchess, she would have to
pay for some of her girlish antics in pre-duchess days. Still, I decided
that if I had to choose, it would be the duke before Bertie.

The girl kept both her men busy, and after the first glance Bertie
ignored my existence: but the Duke, fired by a moment's neglect, flamed
out with an inspiration. He "dared" Miss Nelson to take a lesson from
him in driving his car, with no other chaperon than the chauffeur. "All
right, I will," said she, "and I bet you I'll be an expert after one
trial."

"What do you bet?" asked the Duke.

She smiled flirtatiously in answer and Bertie stood forlorn, his nice
pink complexion turning an ugly salmon colour. In a minute the white car
was off, Miss Nelson beside the duke, the chauffeur like a small nut in
a large shell, lolling in the tonneau. Bertie turned to us, and having
looked kindly at me, sharply demanded of Jack where he was go