tate of my
pocketbook alone that influenced me last night. I had two other reasons.
One was a selfish one, and the other, I hope, unselfish."

"I hope the selfish one wasn't fear of being bored?"

"If that's a question, it doesn't deserve an answer. But because you've
asked it, I'll tell you both reasons. I'd stopped at La Reserve before,
in--in rather different circumstances, and I thought--not only might it
make talk about me, but--"

"I understand," I said. "Of course, Lady Turnour isn't as careful a
chaperon as she ought to be."

Then we both laughed, and the danger-signals were turned off in his
eyes. When he isn't smiling, Mr. Dane sometimes looks almost sullen,
quite as if he could be disagreeable if he liked; but that makes the
change more striking when he does smile.

"You needn't worry about that pocket of mine," he went on, as we ate our
luncheon. "It's as cheap here as anywhere; and when I saw all those
motors before the door, I made up my mind that you'd probably need a
brother, so I came as soon as I could leave the car."

"So you are my brother, are you?" I echoed.

"Don't you think you might adopt me, once for all, in that relationship?
Then, you see, the chaperoning won't matter so much. Of course, it's
early days to take me on as a brother, but I think we'd better begin at
once."

"Before I know whether you have any faults?" I asked. And just for the
minute, the French half of me was a little piqued at his offer. That
part of me pouted, and said that it would be much more amusing to travel
in such odd circumstances beside a person one could flirt with, than to
make a pact of "brother and sister." He might have given me the chance
to say first that I'd be a sister to him! But the American half slapped
the French half, and said: "What silly nonsense! Don't be an idiot, if
you can help it. The man's behaving beautifully. And it will just do you
good to have your vanity stepped on, you conceited little minx!"

"Oh, I've plenty of faults, I'll tell you to start with--plenty you may
have noticed already, and plenty more you haven't had time to notice
yet," said my new relative. "I'm a sulky brute, for one thing, and I've
got to be a pessimist lately, for another--a horrid fault, that!--and I
have a vile temper--"

"All those faults might be serviceable in a _brother_," I said. "Though
in any one else--"

"In a friend or a lover, they'd be unbearable, of course; I know that,"
he broke in. "But w