d into life, and run amuck through the most crowded
street in busy Marseilles. I felt myself go cold and hot, horribly
uncertain whether my interference might work harm or good, but before I
quite knew what I did, I had sent the boy flying with a sounding box on
the ear.

He squealed as he sprawled backward, and I stood up, ready for battle,
my fingers tingling, my heart pounding. The imp was up again, in half a
breath, pushed forward by his friends to take revenge, and I could hear
Sir Samuel or her ladyship wrestling vainly with the window behind me.
What would have happened next I can't tell, except that I was in a mood
to fight for our car till the death, even if knives flashed out; and I
think I was gasping "Police! Police!" but at that instant Mr. Jack Dane
hurled himself like a catapult from the hotel. He dashed the weedy
youths out of his way like ninepins, jumped to his seat, and the car and
the car's occupants were safe.

"You are a trump, Miss d'Angely," said he, as we boomed away from the
hotel, scattering the crowd before us as an eddy of wind scatters autumn
leaves. "You did just the right thing at just the right time. It was all
my fault. I oughtn't to have left the motor going."

"It was Sir Samuel's fault," I contradicted him.

"No. Whatever goes wrong with the car is always the chauffeur's fault.
Sir Samuel wanted me to do a foolish thing, and I oughtn't to have done
it. I had your life to think of--"

"And theirs."

"Theirs, of course. But I would have thought of yours first."

It made my heart feel as warm as a bird in a nest to be complimented by
the man at the helm for presence of mind, and then to hear that already
I'd gained a friend to whom my life was of some value. Since my mother
died, there has been no one for whom I've come first.

I wanted badly to do something to show my gratitude, but could think of
nothing except that, by and by, when we knew each other better, I might
offer to sew on his buttons or mend his socks.

CHAPTER IX

"I suppose we'll meet by-and-by at dinner?" I said (I'm afraid rather
wistfully) to the chauffeur as he drove the car up a steep hill to the
door of La Reserve, on The Corniche.

"Well, no," he answered, "because you needn't fear anything disagreeable
here, and I'm going to stop at a less expensive place. You see, I pay my
own way, and as I really have to live on my screw, it doesn't run to
grand hotels. This one _is_ rather grand; but you wi