Cynthia's Chauffeur

  CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR

  by

  LOUIS TRACY

  Author ofThe Wings of the Morning,A Son of the Immortals, Etc., Etc.

  Illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy

  New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishers

  Copyright, 1910, byEdward J. ClodeEntered at Stationers' Hall

  "_There is no lovelier garden in England than at WellsPalace._"]

  CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR

  By LOUIS TRACY

  The scene opens in London on Derby day. A lovely American girl and herEnglish chaperon had engaged a chauffeur to take them in his car on athousand miles run for ten days. On his way to keep the appointmentthe car met with an accident, and a young Englishman, the son of anearl, happened to be in the vicinity. The chauffeur had once been inhis employ, and when he saw his distress at the possible loss of agood customer he thought it would be a fine lark to go himself, in theguise of a chauffeur, and take the ladies on their journey.

  The girl was beautiful and the pseudo chauffeur was young andromantic, and one of the strangest of love stories began.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. THE HIRED CAR 1

  II. THE FIRST DAY'S RUN 23

  III. SOME EMOTIONS--WITHOUT A MORAL 47

  IV. SHADOWS--WITH OCCASIONAL GLEAMS 72

  V. A FLURRY ON THE MENDIPS 94

  VI. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S VAGARIES 119

  VII. WHEREIN CYNTHIA TAKES HER OWN LINE 143

  VIII. BREAKERS AHEAD 167

  IX. ON THE WYE 191

  X. THE HIDDEN FOUNTS OF EVIL 216

  XI. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 239

  XII. MASQUES, ANCIENT AND MODERN 260

  XIII. WHEREIN WRATH BEGUILES GOOD JUDGMENT 283

  XIV. --AND GOOD JUDGMENT YIELDS TO FOLLY 307

  XV. THE OUTCOME 324

  XVI. THE END OF ONE TOUR: THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER 344

  CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR

  CHAPTER I

  THE HIRED CAR

  Derby Day fell that year on the first Wednesday in June. By a whim ofthe British climate, the weather was fine; in fact, no rain had fallenon southern England since the previous Sunday. Wise after the event,the newspapers published cheerful "forecasts," and certain daring"experts" discussed the probabilities of a heat wave. So London, onthat bright Wednesday morning, was agog with excitement over itsannual holiday; and at such a time London is the gayest and liveliestcity in the world.

  And then, wholly independent of the weather, there was the GreatQuestion.

  From the hour when the first 'bus rumbled Citywards until some fewseconds before three o'clock in the afternoon the mass of the peopleseemed to find delight in asking and answering it. The Question wasever the same; but the answer varied. In its way, the Question formeda tribute to the advance of democracy. It caused strangers toexchange opinions and pleasantries in crowded trains and omnibuses. Itplaced peers and commoners on an equality. During some part of the dayit completely eclipsed all other topics of conversation.

  Thus, young Lord Medenham made no pretense of shirking it while hestood on the steps of his father's mansion in Cavendish Square andwatched his chauffeur stowing a luncheon basket beneath the front seatof the Mercury 38.

  "You know a bit about racing, Tomkinson," he said, smiling at theelderly butler who had brought the basket out of the house. "What'sgoing to win?"

  "The King's horse, my lord," replied Tomkinson, with the unctuousconviction of a prelate laying down a dogma.

  "Is it as sure as all that?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Well, I hope so. You are on a sovereign--By gad, you really are, youknow."

  Tomkinson was far too keenly alive to the monetary side of thetransaction to pay heed to the quip. His portly figure curved in asuperb bow.

  "Thank you, my lord," said he.

  "Remind me this evening if you are right. I shall not forget to damnyou if you are wrong."

  Tomkinson ignored the chance of error and its consequences.

  "Your lordship will be home for dinner?"

  "Yes, I have no other engagement. All ready, Dale?" for the chauffeurwas in his seat, and the engine was purring with the placid hum of amachine in perfect tune.

  Tomkinson moved grandly down the steps, ushered Viscount Medenham intothe car, and watched its graceful swoop into Holles Street.

  "Times have changed," said he to himself. "Twenty years ago, when Ifirst came here, his lordship's father would have given _me_ a tip,and he wouldn't have been coming home for dinner, neether."

  By that last fatal word Tomkinson betrayed the cloven hoof. At least,he was no prelate--and his assumption of the prophetic role would soonbe put to the test. But he had answered the Great Question.

  The Mercury crossed Oxford Street and insinuated itself into thearistocratic narrowness of Mayfair. It stopped in Curzon Street,opposite a house gay with flowers in window-boxes. The Viscount lookedat his watch.

  "How far to Epsom?" he asked over Dale's shoulder.

  "About sixteen miles by the direct road, my lord, but it will be bestto go round by Kingston and avoid the worst of the traffic. We oughtto allow an hour for the run."

  "An hour!"

  "We are not in France now, my lord. The police here would have spasmsif they saw the car extended."

  Lord Medenham sighed.

  "We must reason with them," he said. "But not to-day. Lady St. Maurdeclares she is nervous. Of course, she doesn't know our Mercury.After to-day's experience it will be quite another matter when I takeher to Brighton for lunch on Sunday."

  Dale said nothing. He had met his employer at Marseilles in October,when Lord Medenham landed from Africa; during the preceding twelvemonths his license had been indorsed three times for exceeding thespeed limit on the Brighton Road, and he had paid L40 in fines andcosts to various petty sessional courts in Surrey and Sussex. Sunday,therefore, promised developments.

  Medenham seemed to think that his aunt, Lady St. Maur, would bewaiting for him on the doorstep. As no matronly figure materialized inthat locality, he alighted, and obeyed a brass-lettered injunction to"knock and ring." Then he disappeared inside the house, and remainedthere so long that Dale's respect for the law began to weaken. Thechauffeur had been given a racing certainty for the first race; thehour was nearing twelve, and every road leading to Epsom Downs wouldsurely be congested.

  His lordship came out, alone, and it was clear that the unexpected hadhappened.

  "Nice thing!" he said, with the closest semblance to a growl that hisgood-natured drawl was capable of. "The whole show is busted, Dale.Her ladyship is in bed with her annual bilious attack--comes of eatingforced strawberries, she says. And she adores strawberries. So do I.There's pounds of 'em in that luncheon basket. Who's going to eat'em?"

  Dale foresaw no difficulties in that respect, but he did realize atonce that his master cared little about racing, and, so far as Epsomwas concerned, would abandon the day's excursion without a pang. Hegrew desperate. But, being something of a stoic, he kept his feelingsin check, and played a card that could hardly fail.

  "You will find plenty of youngsters on the hill who will be glad ofthem, my lord," said he.

  "You don't tell me so! Kiddies at the Derby! Well, why not? It showswhat a stranger I am in my own land that I should never have seen theblessed race. Right ahead then, Dale; we must back the King's horseand arrange a school treat. But
I'll take the wheel. Can you tuck yourlegs over that basket? I'm not going to sit alone in the tonneau. And,who knows?--we may pick up someone on the road."

  Starting on the switch, the car sprang off towards Piccadilly. Dalesighed in his relief. With ordinary luck, they ought to reach Epsombefore one o'clock, and racing did not begin till half an hour later.He left wholly out of reckoning the mysterious element in humanaffairs that allots adventures to the adventurous, though closeassociation with Viscount Medenham during the past nine months oughtto have taught him the wisdom of caution. Several chapters of a veryinteresting book might be supplied by his lordship's motoringexperiences on the Continent, and these would only supplement thestill more checkered biography of one who, at the close of the BoerWar, elected to shoot his way home through the Mid-African haunts ofbig game rather than return by orthodox troopship. On the face ofthings, it was absurd to imagine that a self-confessed wanderershould be permitted to see his first Derby in the sacrosanct companyof a stout aunt and a well-filled luncheon basket. Even Medenham'srecording angel must have smiled at the conceit, though doubtlessshaking a grave head when the announcement of the Dowager'sindisposition revealed the first twist from the path of good intent.As for Lady St. Maur, she declared long afterwards that the wholeamazing entanglement could be traced distinctly to her fondness forthe ducal fruit raised under glass. A cherry-stone lodged in thevermiform appendix of an emperor has more than once played strangepranks with the map of Europe, so it is not surprising that astrawberry, subtly bestowed in a place well adapted to the exercise ofits fell skill, should be able to convulse a section of the Britishpeerage.

  Be that as it may, the hap that put Medenham in control of his Mercuryunquestionably led to the next turn in events. A man driving ahigh-powered car watches the incidents of the road more closely thanthe same individual lounging at ease in the back seat. Hence, hislordship's attention was caught instantly by a touring car drawn upclose to the curb in Down Street. That short thoroughfare forms, asit were, a backwash for the traffic of Piccadilly. At the moment itheld no other vehicle than the two automobiles, and it required nosecond look at the face of the driver of the motionless car todiscover that something was seriously amiss. Anger and despairstruggled there for predominance. Richard the Third of England musthave given just such a glance at his last horse foundered on BosworthField.

  Medenham never passed another motorist in trouble without stopping.

  "Anything the matter?" he asked, when the Mercury was halted with theease of a trained athlete poised in suspended motion.

  "Everything!"

  The chauffeur snapped out the word without turning. He was a mandevoid of faith, or hope, or charity.

  "Can I help?"

  "Can you h----l!" came the surly response.

  Thereupon, many viscounts would have swept on into Piccadilly withoutfurther parley--not so Medenham. He scrutinized the soldierly figure,the half-averted face.

  "You must be hard hit, Simmonds, before you would answer me in thatfashion," said he quietly.

  Simmonds positively jumped when he heard his name. He wheeled round,raised his cap, and broke into stuttering excuse.

  "I beg your lordship's pardon--I hadn't the least notion----"

  These two had not met since they discussed Boer trenches and Britishgenerals during a momentary halt on the Tugela slope of Spion Kop.Medenham remembered the fact, and forgave a good deal on account ofit.

  "I have seen you look far less worried under a plunging fire from apom-pom," he said cheerily. "Now, what is it? Wires out of order?"

  "No, my lord. That wouldn't bother me very long. It's a regular smashthis time--transmission shaft snapped."

  "Why?"

  "I was run into by a railway van, and forced against a street refuge."

  "Well, if it was not your fault----"

  "Oh, I can claim damages right enough. I have plenty of witnesses.Even the driver of the van could only say that one of his horsesslipped. It's the delay I'm jibbing at. I hate to disappoint mycustomers, and this accident may cost me three hundred pounds, and abusiness of my own into the bargain."

  "By gad! That sounds rather stiff. What's the hurry?"

  "This is my own car, my lord. Early in the spring I was lucky enoughto fall in with a rich American. I was driving for a company then, buthe offered me three hundred pounds, money down, for a three months'contract. Straightaway I bought this car for five hundred, and it ishalf paid for. Now the same gentleman writes from Paris that I am totake his daughter and another lady on a thousand miles' run for tendays, and he says he is prepared to hire me and the car for thebalance of another period of three months on the same terms."

  "But the ladies will be reasonable when you explain matters."

  "Ladies are never reasonable, my lord--especially young ones. I havemet Miss Vanrenen only once, but she struck me as one who was verymuch accustomed to having her own way. And she has planned this tourto the last minute. Any other day I might have hired a car, and pickedup my own somewhere on the road, but on Derby Day and in fineweather----"

  Simmonds spread wide his hands in sheer inability to find words thatwould express the hopelessness of retrieving his shattered fortunes.Dale was fidgeting, fingering taps and screws unnecessarily, butMedenham was pondering his former trooper's plight. He refused toadmit that the position was quite so bad as it was painted.

  "Oh, come now," said he, "I'll give you a tow to the nearest repairshop, and a word from me will expedite the business. Meanwhile, youmust jump into a hansom and appeal to the sympathies ofMiss--Vanrenen, is it?"

  "No use, my lord," was the stubborn answer. "I am very much obligedto you, but I would not dream of detaining you."

  "Simmonds, you are positively cantankerous. I can spare the time."

  "The first race is at 1.30, my lord," muttered Dale, greatly daring.

  Medenham laughed.

  "You, too?" he cried. "Someone has given you a tip, I suppose?"

  Dale flushed under this direct analysis of his feelings. He grinnedsheepishly.

  "I am told that Eyot can't lose the first race, my lord," he said.

  "Ah! And how much do you mean to speculate?"

  "A sovereign, my lord."

  "Hand it over. I will lay you starting price."

  Somewhat taken aback, though nothing said or done by Viscount Medenhamcould really surprise him, Dale's leather garments creaked and groanedwhile he produced the coin, which his master duly pocketed.

  "Now, Simmonds," went on the pleasant, lazy voice, "you see how I havecomforted Dale by taking his money; won't you tell me what is the realobstacle that blocks the way? Are you afraid to face this imperiousyoung lady?"

  "No, my lord. No man can provide against an accident of this sort. ButMiss Vanrenen will lose all confidence in me. The arrangement was thatto-day's spin should be a short one--to Brighton. I was to take theladies to Epsom in time for the Derby, and then we were to run quietlyto the Metropole. Miss Vanrenen made such a point of seeing the racethat she will be horribly disappointed. There is an American horseentered----"

  "By gad, another gambler!"

  Simmonds laughed grimly.

  "I don't think Miss Vanrenen knows much about racing, my lord, but theowner of Grimalkin is a friend of her father's, and he is confidentabout winning this year."

  "I am beginning to understand. You are in a fix of sorts, Simmonds."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "And what is your plan? I suppose you have one."

  "I have sent for a boy messenger, my lord. When he arrives I shallwrite--Oh, here he is."

  Viscount Medenham descended leisurely and lit a cigarette. Dale, thestoic, folded his arms and looked fixedly at the press of vehiclespassing the end of the street. Vivid memories of Lord Medenham'schivalrous courtesy--his lordship's dashed tomfoolery he calledit--warned him that life was about to assume new interests.

  The boy messenger, summoned telephonically by a sympatheticmaid-servant in a neighboring house, guessed that
the gentlemanstanding on the pavement owned the "motor-car" to which he had beendirected. Here were two cars, but the boy did not hesitate. Hesaluted.

  "Messenger, sir," he said.

  "This way," intervened Simmonds curtly.

  "No. I want you," said Medenham. "You know Sevastopolo's, thecigarette shop in Bond Street?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Take this card there, and ask him to dispatch the order at once."Meanwhile he was writing: "Kindly send 1,000 Salonikas to 91 CavendishSquare."

  Simmonds looked anxious. He was not a smooth-spoken fellow, but he didnot wish to offend Lord Medenham.

  "Would your lordship mind if I sent the boy to the Savoy Hotel first?"he asked nervously. "It is rather late, and Miss Vanrenen will beexpecting me."

  "What time are you due at the Savoy?"

  "We were to start at twelve o'clock, but the ladies' luggage had to bestrapped on, and----"

  "Ah, the deuce! That sounds formidable."

  "Of course they must stow everything into the canvas trunks Isupplied, my lord."

  Medenham stooped and examined the screws which fastened an iron gridat the back of the broken-down vehicle.

  "Whip open the tool box, Dale, and transfer that arrangement to mycar," he said briskly. "Make it fit somehow. I don't approve ofdamaged paintwork, nor of weight behind the driving-wheels for thatmatter, but time presses, and the ladies might shy at a request torepack their belongings into my kit-bags, even if I were carryingthem. Now, Simmonds, give me the route, if you know it, and hand overyour road maps. I mean to take your place until your car is put right.Wire me where to expect you. You ought to be ship-shape in three days,at the utmost."

  "My lord----" began the overwhelmed Simmonds.

  "I'll see you hanged as high as Haman before I hand over my Mercury toyou, if that is what you are thinking of," said Medenham sharply."Why, man, she is built like a watch. It would take you a month tounderstand her. Now, you boy, be off to Sevastopolo's. Where can I buya chauffeur's kit, Simmonds?"

  "Your lordship is really too kind. I couldn't think of permitting it,"muttered Simmonds.

  "What, then--do you refuse my assistance?"

  "It isn't that, my lord. I am awfully grateful----"

  "Are you afraid that I shall run off with Miss Vanrenen--hold her toransom--send Black Hand letters to her father, and that sort ofthing?"

  "From what little I have seen of Miss Vanrenen she is much more likelyto run off with you, my lord. But----"

  "You're growing incoherent, Simmonds. For goodness' sake tell mewhere I am to go. You can safely leave all the rest to me, and wehaven't a minute to lose if I am to secure any sort of a decentmotoring kit before I turn up at the hotel. Pull yourself together,man. Action front and fire! Guns unlimbered and first range-finderdispatched in nineteen seconds--eh, what?"

  Simmonds squared his shoulders. He had been a driver in the RoyalArtillery before he joined Viscount Medenham's troop of ImperialYeomanry. There was no further argument. Dale, Oriental in phlegm nowthat Eyot was safely backed, was already unscrewing the luggagecarrier.

  Half an hour later, the Mercury curled with sinuous grace out of thebusy Strand into the courtyard of the Savoy Hotel. The inclosuresnorted with motors, the air was _petrolise_, all the world of thehotel was going, or had already gone, to Epsom.

  One quick glance at the lines of traffic showed Medenham thatthe Swiss Rear-Admiral on duty would not allow him to remain anunnecessary instant in front of the actual doorway. He swung his carto the exit side, crept in behind a departing taxicab, and grabbed ahurrying boy in buttons.

  "You listen to me, boy," he said.

  The boy remarked that his hearing was perfect.

  "Well, go to Miss Vanrenen and say that her motor is waiting. Seize aporter, and do not leave him until he has brought two canvas trunksfrom the lady's rooms. Help him to strap them on the grid, and I'llgive each of you half-a-crown."

  The boy vanished. Never before had a chauffeur addressed him soconvincingly.

  Medenham, standing by the side of the car, was deep in the contoursof a road map of Sussex when a sweet if somewhat petulant voice,apparently at his elbow, complained that its owner could not seeSimmonds anywhere. He turned instantly. A slim, straight-figured girl,wearing a dust-cloak and motor veil, had come out from the Savoy Courtdoorway and was scrutinizing every automobile in sight. Near her was ashort, stout woman whose personality seemed to be strangely familiarto Medenham. He never forgot anyone, and this lady was certainly notone of his acquaintances; nevertheless, her features, her robin-likestrut, her very amplitude of girth and singular rotundity of form,came definitely within the net of his retentive memory.

  To be sure, he gave her but brief survey, since her companion, inall likelihood Miss Vanrenen, might quite reasonably attract hisattention. Indeed, she would find favor in the eyes of any young man,let alone one who had such cause as Viscount Medenham to be interestedin her appearance. In her amazingly lovely face the haughty beauty ofan aristocrat was softened by a touch of that piquant femininity whichthe well-bred American girl seems to bring from Paris with herclothes. A mass of dark brown hair framed a forehead, nose, and mouthof almost Grecian regularity, while her firmly modeled chin, slightlymore pronounced in type, would hint at unusual strength of characterwere not the impression instantly dispelled by the changing lights ina pair of marvelously blue eyes. In the course of a single secondMedenham found himself comparing them to blue diamonds, to the azuredepths of a sunlit sea, to the exquisite tint of the myosotis. Then heswallowed his surprise, and lifted his cap.

  "May I ask if you are Miss Vanrenen?" he said.

  The blue eyes met his. For the first time in his life he was thrilledto the core by a woman's glance.

  "Yes."

  She answered with a smile, an approving smile, perhaps, for theviscount looked very smart in his tight-fitting uniform, but none theless wondering.

  "Then I am here instead of Simmonds. His car was put out of commissionan hour ago by a brutal railway van, and will not be ready for theroad during the next day or two. May I offer my services in themeantime?"

  The girl's astonished gaze traveled from Medenham to the spick andspan automobile. For the moment he had forgotten his role, and eachword he uttered deepened her bewilderment, which grew stronger whenshe looked at the Mercury. The sleek coachwork and spotless leatherupholstery, the shining brass fittings and glistening wings, everyvisible detail in fact, gave good promise of the excellence of theengine stowed away beneath the square bonnet. Evidently Miss Vanrenenhad cultivated the habit of gathering information rapidly.

  "_This_ car?" she exclaimed, with a delightful lifting of archedeyebrows.

  "Yes, you will not be disappointed in it, I assure you. I am doingSimmonds a friendly turn in taking his place, so I hope the slightaccident will not make any difference to your plans."

  "But--why has not Simmonds himself come to explain matters?"

  "He could not leave his car, which is in a side street off Piccadilly.He would have sent a note, but he remembered that you had never seenhis handwriting, so, as a proof of my genuineness, he gave me youritinerary."

  Medenham produced a closely-written sheet of note-paper, which MissVanrenen presumably recognized. She turned to her stout companion, whohad been summing up car and chauffeur with careful eyes since Medenhamfirst spoke.

  "What do _you_ think, Mrs. Devar?" she said.

  When he heard the name, Medenham was so amazed that the last vestigeof chauffeurism vanished from his manner.

  "You don't mean to say you are Jimmy Devar's mother?" he gasped.

  Mrs. Devar positively jumped. If a look could have slain he would havefallen then and there. As it was, she tried to freeze him to death.

  "Do I understand that you are speaking of Captain Devar, of Horton'sHorse?" she said, aloof as an iceberg.

  "Yes," said he coolly, though regretting the lapse. He had stupidlybrought about an awkward incident, and must remember in future not toaddress ei
ther lady as an equal.

  "I was not aware that my son was on familiar terms with the chauffeurfraternity."

  "Sorry, but the name slipped out unawares. Captain Devar is, or usedto be, very easy-going in his ways, you know."

  "So it would seem." She turned her back on him disdainfully. "In thecircumstances, Cynthia," she said, "I am inclined to believe that weought to make further inquiries before we exchange cars, and drivers,in this fashion."

  "But what is to be done? All our arrangements are made--our roomsordered--I have even sent father each day's address. If we canceleverything by telegraph he will be alarmed."

  "Oh, I did not mean that," protested the lady hurriedly. It wasevident that she hardly knew what to say. Medenham's wholly unexpectedquery had unnerved her.

  "Is there any alternative?" demanded Cynthia ruefully, glancing fromone to the other.

  "It is rather late to hire another car to-day, I admit----" began Mrs.Devar.

  "It would be quite impossible, madam," put in Medenham. "This is DerbyDay, and there is not a motor to be obtained in London except ataxicab. It was sheer good luck for Simmonds that he was able tosecure me as his deputy."

  He thanked his stars for that word "madam." Certainly the mere soundof it seemed to soothe Mrs. Devar's jarred nerves, and the appearanceof the Mercury was even more reassuring.

  "Ah, well," she said, "we are not traveling into the wilds. Ifdesirable, we can always return to town by train. By the way,chauffeur, what is your name?"

  For an instant Medenham hesitated. Then he took the plunge, strongin the belief that a half-forgotten transaction between himself and"Jimmy" Devar would prevent that impecunious warrior from discussinghim freely in the family circle.

  "George Augustus Fitzroy," he said.

  Mrs. Devar's brows knitted; she was regaining her self-possession, anda sarcastic smile now chased away a perplexing thought. She was aboutto say something when Cynthia Vanrenen broke in excitedly:

  "I declare to goodness if the hotel people have not fastened onour boxes already. They seem to know our minds better than we doourselves. And here is the man with the wraps.... Please be carefulwith that camera.... Yes, put it there, with the glasses. What are youdoing, Fitzroy?" for Medenham was discharging his obligations to theboy in buttons and a porter.

  "Paying my debts," said he, smiling at her.

  "Of course you realize that I pay all expenses?" she said, with justthe requisite note of hauteur in her voice that the situation calledfor.

  "This is entirely a personal matter, I assure you, Miss Vanrenen."

  Medenham could not help smiling; he stooped and felt a tireunnecessarily. Cynthia was puzzled. She wrote that evening to IrmaNorris, her cousin in Philadelphia--"Fitzroy is a new line inchauffeurs."

  "By the way, where is your trunk?" she demanded suddenly.

  "I came away unexpectedly, so I have arranged that it shall be sent toBrighton by rail," he explained.

  Apparently, there was nothing more to be said. The two ladies seatedthemselves, and the car sped out into the Strand. They watched thedriver's adroit yet scrupulously careful dealing with the traffic, andCynthia, at least, quickly grasped the essential fact that the sixcylinders worked with a silent power that held cheap every othervehicle passed or overtaken on the road.

  "It is a lovely automobile," she murmured with a little sigh ofsatisfaction.

  "Quite an up-to-date car, I fancy," agreed her friend.

  "I don't understand how this man, Fitzroy, can afford to use it forhiring purposes. Yet, that is his affair--not mine. I rather like him.Don't you?"

  "His manners are somewhat off-hand, but such persons are given toaping their superiors. George Augustus Fitzroy, too--it is ridiculous.Fitzroy is the family name of the Earls of Fairholme, and their eldestsons have been christened George Augustus ever since the beginning ofthe eighteenth century."

  "The name seems to fit our chauffeur all right, and I guess he has asgood a claim to it as any other man."

  Cynthia was apt to flaunt the Stars and Stripes when Mrs. Devar airedher class conventions, and the older woman had the tact to agree witha careless nod. Nevertheless, had Cynthia Vanrenen known how strictlyaccurate was her comment she would have been the most astounded girlin London at that minute. The Viscountcy, of course, was nothing morethan a courtesy title; in the cold eye of the law, Medenham's fulllegal name was that which Mrs. Devar deemed ridiculous. As eventsshaped themselves, it was of the utmost importance to Cynthia, andto Medenham, and to several other persons who had not yet risenabove their common horizon, that Mrs. Devar's sneer should passunchallenged. Though that lady herself was not fashioned of the softerhuman clay which expresses its strenuous emotions by fainting fits orhysteria, some such feminine expedient would certainly have preventedher from going another hundred yards along the south road had somewizard told her how nearly she had guessed the truth.

  But the luck of the born adventurer saved Medenham from prematureexposure. "I dare all" was the motto of his house, and it was fatedto be tested in full measure ere he saw London again. Of theseconsiderations the purring Mercury neither knew nor cared. She sangthe song of the free highway, and sped through the leafy lanes ofSurrey with a fine disregard for Acts of Parliament and the "rulesand regulations therein made and provided." Soon after one o'clock,however, she was compelled to climb the road to the downs in meekagreement with two lines of toiling chars-a-bancs and laboring motors.Just to show her mettle when the opportunity offered, she took thesteep hill opposite the stands with a greyhound rush that vastlydisconcerted a policeman who told Medenham to "hurry up out of thedip."

  Then, having found a clear space, she dozed for a while, and Cynthia,like a true-born American, began the day's business by giving theanswer before either of her companions even thought of putting theGreat Question.

  "Grimalkin will win!" she cried. "Mr. Deane told my father so. I wantto play Grimalkin for ten dollars!"