arrive before she and
her party went away. Lady Brighthelmston left a letter for Mr. Winston,"
and he pointed to a letter in the rack close by the office addressed in
a large handwriting to the Honourable John Winston.

I was quite frightened when I heard that the owner of my car was
expected to arrive in Cannes, for Brown was so certain that he was in
England; yet here he might walk in at any moment to say that he'd
changed his mind and wanted back his Napier. Just as I was thinking of
going on to Italy in it, too! Why, the very thought that maybe I should
have to lose the car made me long to keep it all the more.

I was gazing reproachfully at the letter and wondering if we hadn't
better hurry away from Cannes before the H. J. turned up, when I saw
Aunt Mary lay her hand on Jimmy's arm in a warning kind of way, as if
she wanted to keep him from saying something he had begun to say. At
that moment I found that Brown was at my elbow, though whether Aunt
Mary's warning to Jimmy had anything to do with him or not I don't know.
I don't see why it should, but she did look rather funny. Brown had come
in to bring me my dear little gold-netted purse with my monogram in
rubies and diamonds that you gave me just before I started. I'd dropped
it off my lap when I got out of the car, so you see I'm as bad about
that as ever. I thanked Brown, and then drawing him aside a little, I
told him about Mr. Winston and what I was afraid of. He was as sure as
ever that his old master wouldn't turn up to spoil sport, though I
pointed out the letter; and it's a funny thing that the Hon. J.'s
ex-_chauffeur_ should be kept more in touch with his movements than his
own mother. However, that's not my business.

That afternoon Aunt Mary, Jimmy, and I had a lovely walk in Cannes by
the sea. We had tea at a fascinating confectioner's called Rumpelmayer,
and a long time afterwards dined at a perfect dream of a little
restaurant built out into the sea--the Restaurant de la Reserve,
something like the one in Marseilles. I wonder if they were here in your
day, Dad? There are pens in the water built up with walls, and lobsters
and other creatures are swimming unsuspectingly about in them. You
select your own fish, and in a few minutes the poor thing, so happy a
little while ago, is on the table exquisitely cooked with its own
appropriate sauce. It seems sad. Still, one does give them honourable
burial, and they couldn't expect to live for ever. I let