said. Then, after a pause, she added: "I wish
we could keep this car for the rest of our tour, yet I suppose I ought
not to interfere in the arrangement father made with Simmonds."

Mrs. Devar frowned. Her momentary tremor had fled, and she had every
cause to regard with uneasiness the threatened substitution during the
forthcoming ten days, of this quite impossible Fitzroy for that very
chauffeur-like person, Simmonds. Her acquaintance with Peter Vanrenen
and his daughter was sufficiently intimate to warn her that Cynthia's
least desire was granted by her indulgent parent; in fact, Cynthia
would have been hopelessly spoilt were it not for a combination of
those happy chances which seem to conspire at times in the creation of
the American girl at her best. She was devoted to her father, her
nature was bright and cheerful, and she had a heart that bubbled over
with kindliness. Mrs. Devar chose the right line of attack. She
resolved to appeal to the girl's sympathies.

"I am afraid it would be a rather cruel thing to deprive Simmonds of
his engagement," she said softly. "He has bought a car, I understand,
on the strength of the contract with Mr. Vanrenen----"

"That doesn't cut any ice--I mean there would be no ill effect for
Simmonds," explained Cynthia hurriedly. "Father will meet us in London
at the end of our run, and Simmonds could come to us then."

The steel-gray eyes narrowed. Their owner was compelled to decide
quickly. As opposition was useless, she laughed, with the careless
ease of one who was in no way concerned.

"Don't you think," she said, "that if your father sees this car
Simmonds will be dispensed with somehow?"

Cynthia nodded. The argument was unanswerable.

They were crossing the course at a walking pace; at that point a sort
of passage was kept clear by the police for the convenience of those
occupants of the stands who wished to visit the paddock. The owner
of Vendetta, having been congratulated by royalty, was taking some
friends to admire the horse during the rubbing-down process, when his
glance suddenly fell on Medenham. Though amazed, he was not rendered
speechless.

"Well, I'm----" he began.

But the Mercury possessed a singularly loud and clear motor-horn, and
the voice of the Honorable Charles was drowned. Still, his gestures
were eloquent. Quite obviously, he was saying to a man whose arm he
caught:

"Did you ever in your life see anybody more like George than that
chauffeur?