Part 11 (2/2)

”This was given me for my _beaux yeux_,” he said, ”but I don't want any tea, so please take it, and don't let it be wasted.”

I was convinced that he had paid for that cup of tea with coin harder if not brighter than the _beaux yeux_ in question; but it would have hurt his feelings if I had refused, therefore I drank the tea and thanked the giver.

”You are being very kind to me,” I said, ”Mr. Bane or Dane; so do you mind telling me which it is?”

”Dane,” he replied shortly. ”Not that it matters. A chauffeur by any other name would smell as much of oil and petrol. It's actually my real name, too. Are you surprised? I was either too proud or too stubborn to change it--I'm not sure which--when I took up 'shuvving' for a livelihood.”

”No, I'm not surprised,” I said. ”You don't look like the sort of man who would change his name as if it were a coat. I've kept mine, too, to 'maid' with. You 'shuv,' I 'maid.' It sounds like an exercise in a strange language.”

”That's precisely what it is,” he answered. ”A difficult language to learn at first, but I'm getting the 'hang' of it. I hope you won't need to pursue the study very thoroughly.”

”And you think you will?”

”I think so,” he said, his face hardening a little, and looking dogged.

”I don't see any way out of it for the present.”

I was silent for almost a whole minute--which can seem a long time to a woman--half hoping that he meant to tell me something about himself; how it was that he'd decided to be a professional chauffeur, and so on. I was sure there must be a story, an interesting story--perhaps a romantic one--and if he confided in me, I would in him. Why not, when--on my part, at least--there's nothing to conceal, and we're bound to be companions of the Road for weal or woe? But if he felt any temptation to be expansive he resisted it, like a true Englishman; and to break a silence which grew almost embarra.s.sing I was driven to ask him, quite brazenly, if he had no curiosity to know my name.

”Not exactly curiosity,” said he, smiling his pleasant smile again. ”I'm never curious about people I--like, or feel that I'm going to like. It isn't my nature.”

”It's just the opposite with me.”

”We're of opposite s.e.xes.”

”You believe that explains it? I don't know. Man may be a fellow creature, I suppose--though they didn't teach me that at the Convent.

But tell me this: even if you have no curiosity, because you hope you can manage to endure me, _do_ you think I look like an 'Elise'?”

”Somehow, you don't. Names have different colours for me. Elise is bright pink. You ought to be silver, or pale blue.”

”Elise is my professional name; Lady Turnour is my sponsor. My real name's Lys--Lys d'Angely.”

”Good! Lys _is_ silver.”

”I wish I could coin it. Let me see if I can guess what you ought to be?

You look like--like--well, Jack would suit you. But that's too good to be true. I shall never meet a 'Jack' except in books and ballads.”

”My name is John Claud. But when I was a boy, I always fought any chap who called me 'Claud,' and tried to give him a black eye or a b.l.o.o.d.y nose. You may call me Jack, if you like.”

”Certainly not. I shall call you Mr. Dane.”

”Shuvvers are never mistered.”

”Not even by the females of their kind? I always supposed that manners were very toploftical in the servants' hall.”

”We may both soon know.”

<script>