dinner he's a waiter in correct "dress" clothes, and
then he goes back to valeting again till midnight. He would put me in a
good temper if I had started out to murder someone, and when he brought
us the wine list, waiting with a cherry-cheeked smile to see what we
would choose, nothing seemed worthy of him except champagne; but
champagne looked so dissipated for two lone females. However, I had
decided to have some, to drink the health of the new car, and perhaps--a
little--to shock Aunt Mary, when the diamond-eyed one respectfully
inquired, in nice Southern French, how we would like to try a "little
wine of the country, sparkling Vouvray; quite a ladies' wine." So we
compromised with Vouvray. It was too ridiculously cheap, but it had a
delicious flavour, and Aunt Mary and I, being merely females, agreed
that it was more delicate than any champagne we had ever tasted. We
drank your health and the car's, and then I had a sudden inspiration.
"To the 'Lightning Conductor'!" said I, raising my glass.

"What lightning conductor? And what do you mean?" inquired Aunt Mary.

"The one and only Lightning Conductor--Brown," I explained. "I have just
thought of that as a good name for him, now that he has a chance to spin
us across the world at such a pace with a new car."

"I do hope, my dear Molly," severely remarked Aunt Mary, setting down
her glass with an indignant little thud, "you will not call that young
man any such thing to his face. He has already been allowed far too many
liberties, and though I must say he has not to any great extent taken
undue advantage of them so far, he may _break out_ at any moment."

I'm sorry to tell you, Dad, that I said "Pooh!" and asked her if she
thought Brown were an active volcano. Anyway, whether I call him so "to
his face" or not, the "Lightning Conductor" he is, and will remain for
me, though perhaps he wouldn't be flattered at being "launched and
christened" with mere Vouvray.

I didn't expect to like Tours half as much as I do. But we have been
here for three days, and though I thought at first there was only one
long street, we've found something interesting to see every hour of
daylight--so I write in the evenings in our cosy sitting-room. Or if I
don't write, I read Balzac. I never appreciated him as I do here, on his
"native heath." I have begged Brown to name his master's car "Balzac,"
because it, too, is a "violent and complicated genius." I've gazed at
the house where Bal