Part 7 (2/2)

”Thank goodness, at least he's not fat, and won't take up much room,” I thought, as I stood looking at the back of his black head.

Then he jumped down, and turned round. We gave each other a glance, and he could not help knowing that I must be her ladys.h.i.+p's maid, by the way I was loaded with rugs, like a beast of burden. Of my face he could see little, as I had on a thick motor-veil with a small triangular talc window, which Lady Kilmarny had given me as a present when I bade her good-bye. I had the advantage of him, therefore, in the staring contest, because his goggles were pushed up on the top of his cap with an elastic, somewhat as Miss Paget's spectacles had been caught in her false front.

His glance said: ”Female thing, I've got to be bothered by having you squashed into the seat beside me. You'd better not be chatty with the man at the wheel, for if you are, I shall have to teach you motor manners.”

My glance, I sincerely hoped, said nothing, for I hurriedly shut it off lest it should say too much, the astonished thought in my mind being: ”Why, Leather Person, you look exactly like a gentleman! You have the air of being the master, and Sir Samuel your servant.”

He really was a surprise, especially after Lady Kilmarny's warning.

Still, I at once began to tell myself that chauffeurs _must_ have intelligent faces. As for this one's clear features, good gray eyes, brown skin, and well-made figure, they were nothing miraculous, since it is admitted that even a lower grade of beings, grooms and footmen, are generally chosen as ornaments to the establishments they adorn. Why shouldn't a chauffeur be picked out from among his fellows to do credit to a fine, sixty-horse-power blue motor-car? Besides, a young man who can't look rather handsome in a chauffeur's cap and neat leather coat and leggings might as well go and hang himself.

The Leather Person opened the door of the car for me, that I might put in the rugs. I murmured ”thank you” and he bowed. No sooner had I arranged my affairs, and slipped the scent-bottle and bottle of salts, newly filled, into a dainty little case under the window, when Lady Turnour and Sir Samuel appeared.

I have met few, if any, queens in daily life, but I'm almost sure that the Queen of England, for instance, wouldn't consider it beneath her dignity to take some notice of her chauffeur's existence if she were starting on a motor tour. Lady Turnour was miles above it, however. So far as she was concerned, one would have thought that the car ran itself; that at sight of her and Sir Samuel, the arbiters of its destiny, its heart began to beat, its body to tremble with delight at the honour in store for it.

”Tell him to shut the windows,” said her ladys.h.i.+p, when she was settled in her place. ”Does he think I'm going to travel on a day like this with all the wind on the Riviera blowing my head off?”

The imperial order was pa.s.sed on to ”him,” who was addressed as Bane, or Dane, or something of that ilk; and I was sorry for poor Sir Samuel, whose face showed how little he enjoyed the prospect of being cooped up in a gla.s.s box.

”A day like this” meant that there was a wind which no one under fifty had any business to know came out of the east, for it arrived from a sky blue as a vast, inverted cup of turquoise. The sea was a cup, too; a cup of gold glittering where the Esterel mountains rimmed it, and full to the frothing brim of blue spilt by the sky.

Perhaps there was a hint of keenness in the breeze, and the palms in the hotel garden were whispering to each other about it, while they rocked the roses tangled among their fans; yet it seemed to me that the whispers were not of complaint, but of joy--joy of life, joy of beauty, and joy of the spring. The air smelled of a thousand flowers, this air that Lady Turnour shunned as if it were poison, and brought me a sense of happiness and adventure fresh as the morning. I knew I had no right to the feeling, because this wasn't my adventure. I was only in it on sufferance, to oil the wheels of it, so to speak, for my betters; yet golden joy ran through all my veins as gaily, as generously, as if I were a princess instead of a lady's-maid.

Why on earth I was happy, I didn't know, for it was perfectly clear that I was going to have a horrid time; but I pitied everybody who wasn't young, and starting off on a motor tour, even if on fifty francs a month ”all found.”

I pitied Lady Turnour because she was herself; I pitied Sir Samuel because he was married to her; I pitied the people in the big hotel, who spent their afternoons and evenings playing bridge with all the windows hermetically sealed, while there was a world like this out of doors; and I wasn't sure yet whether I pitied the chauffeur or not.

He didn't look particularly sorry for himself, as he took his seat on my right. I was well out of his way, and he had the air of having forgotten all about me, as he steered away from the hotel down the flower-bordered avenue which led to the street.

”Anyhow,” said I to myself, behind my little three-cornered talc window, ”whatever his faults may be, appearances are _very_ deceptive if he ever tries to chuck me under the chin.”

There we sat, side by side, shut away from our pastors and masters by a barrier of gla.s.s, in that state of life and on that seat to which it had pleased Providence to call us, together.

”We're far enough apart in mind, though,” I told myself. Yet I found my thoughts coming back to the man, every now and then, wondering if his nice brown profile were a mere lucky accident, or if he were really intelligent and well educated beyond his station. It was deliciously restful at first to sit there, seeing beautiful things as we flashed by, able to enjoy them in peace without having to make conversation, as the ordinary _jeune fille_ must with the ordinary _jeune monsieur_.

”And is it that you love the automobilism, mademoiselle?”

”But yes, I love the automobilism. And you?”

”I also.” (Hang it, what shall I say to her next?)

”And the dust. It does not too much annoy you?”

(Oh, bother, I do wish he'd let me alone!)

”No, monsieur. Because there are compensations. The scenery, is it not?”

”And for me your society.” (What a little idiot she is!)

<script>