e moon-paled east. The old Roman amphitheatre
stood up darkly and nobly in the silver twilight; but we passed on to
our hotel, the programme evidently being to satisfy the senses at the
expense of the soul. They do one very well at the hotel in Nimes, but I
looked forward hopefully to a request to play courier among the sights
of the dear old town next morning. It did not come, however. The two
ladies went forth with Jimmy, and as I saw them go I could but
acknowledge my rival to be a personable fellow. Sherlock Holmes and
Little Lord Fauntleroy were both personable fellows in their way, and it
is useless to deny Jimmy's possession of the picked attributes of each.

For some reason the word seems to have gone forth that we are to hurry
on to Cannes. In the circumstances I am inclined to change my mind, and
instead of wishing my dear mother to have departed before our arrival,
I'm not sure it wouldn't be wiser to hope that she'll still be there.
Miss Randolph "hasn't decided what she'll do after reaching the
Riviera." I can't help feeling that Jimmy Sherlock has succeeded in
getting in some deadly work of a mysterious nature. It's on the cards
that I may find at Cannes or Nice that the trip is finished, and Brown
is finished too. Then, as I can't and won't part from my Goddess without
a Titanic struggle, I might find it convenient to tell my mother all,
throw myself on her mercy, and get her to intercede with Miss Randolph
for me. You may argue that her views regarding the fair Barrow are
likely to militate against co-operation in this new direction; but I can
be eloquent on occasion, and even a mother must see that a Barrow is
nothing beside a Goddess.

Altogether, I am nervous. The future looks wobbly, and it is not a
pleasant sensation to feel that one is being secretly undermined. Jimmy
had better look out, though. The first shadow of proof I get that he's
breaking his half of the bargain he shall learn that even a _chauffeur_
will turn. And I look upon Cannes, somehow, as the turning-point in more
senses of the word than one.

But to our muttons. No pleasant dallying for me in beautiful old Nimes
or Arles, either one of which would repay weeks of lingering. What
dallying there was, Jimmy got--confound him!--and my only joy was in his
hatred of early rising. They had him up at an unearthly hour for a
glimpse of the amphitheatre and the Maison Carree at Nimes, and by nine
we were on the road to Arles, Payne driving