hang whether she found out the trick I'd played or not.

That mood lasted about ten minutes, then I began to realise that,
talking of beasts, there was something of the sort inside my own leather
coat, and that if anyone deserved a shaking, it was Jack Winston, and
not that poor, pretty little thing. I was bound to stop on in the place
and protect her, whether she knew she wanted any protection except Aunt
Mary's (oh, Lord!) or not. Besides, I wanted the place, since it was the
best I could expect for the present, and where Talleyrand (?) was, there
would I be also, so long as he was near Her.

Bath and dinner brought me once more as near to an angelic disposition
as I hope to attain in this sphere; and, while I was supposed to be
earning my screw by cleaning the loathsome car, and making new
fastenings for spare belts, I was complacently watching poor Almond in
the throes of these Herculean labours. N.B.--It's only fair to myself to
tell you that Almond is getting double wages, and is quite satisfied,
though I'm persuaded he thinks he has a madman for a master.

About half-past nine next morning (that's yesterday, in case you're
getting mixed) I was hanging round the German chariot with a duster,
pretending to flick specks off it, though Almond had left none, when
Miss Randolph, Aunt Mary, and the alleged Talleyrand came out of the
coffee-room, laughing and talking like the best of friends. Talleyrand
was now in ordinary clothes, perhaps to point the difference between
himself and a mere professional _chauffeur_. Miss Randolph looked
adorable. She'd put off her motoring get-up, and was no end of a swell.
This I saw without seeming to see, for we had not met since our scene.
I didn't know where I stood with her, but thought it prudent meanwhile
to wear a humble air of conscious rectitude, misunderstood.

Talleyrand was swaggering along without a glance at the _chauffeur_ (why
not, indeed?) when Miss Randolph hung back, looked round, and then
stopped. "Oh, Brown, do you know as much about the Chateau of Blois as
you did about Chambord?" asked she, in a voice as sweet as the Lost
Chord.

"Yes, miss, I think I do," said I, lifting my black leather cap.

"Then, are you too busy to come with us?"

"No, miss, not at all, if I can be of any service."

"But, you know, you needn't come unless you like. Maybe it bores you to
be a guide."

Now, if I'd been a gentleman and not a _chauffeur_, perhaps I should
have had a ri