Her poor little friendly smile went
out, like a lamp extinguished. For an instant she lingered, then turned
away without a word, and I could have bitten out my own surly tongue.

To justify myself I pottered with the car, then went moping off to
another hotel, and tried to restore my lost spirits with _pate de foie
de canard_ and fresh walnuts, which would have delighted the palate of a
happier man.

At it was I had neither the heart nor the stomach to linger over the
feast, and consequently got back long before the others were ready for
me. _They_ didn't hurry themselves. I promise you. While busying myself
in flicking dust off the car, a courteous little crowd assembled and
questioned me as to the make of the car (expressing surprise when they
heard it was all English, even to the tyres) and as to how far I had
come. When I said "From Dieppe _via_ Biarritz" a murmur of respect
rippled to the outer edge of the group, and at this moment my party
appeared.

Payne wore a swaggering air, and looked now like Little Lord Fauntleroy
gone wrong. He was far too big a man to notice me, or any of the
kindly, simple people who had been admiring the car, and came up with
us, talking his loudest to Aunt Mary. He almost elbowed me aside, and
got into the driver's seat as a matter of course. Perhaps he had looked
upon the rich wine of the country when it was red, though I didn't think
of that at the time, and attributed his exaggerated insolence to natural
cussedness of soul.

We swept away from the hotel with a curve, which isn't a line of beauty
for a motor-car, and as we left the town Jimmy's conception of his part
as driver became so eccentric that Miss Randolph looked worried--that
is, her pretty shoulders stiffened themselves; I couldn't often see her
face--and Aunt Mary more than once gave vent to a frightened squeak.
Once, in her extremity as we shaved the wheel of a passing cart, she
unbent so far as to throw an appealing glance at me. But I sat in stony
silence with crossed arms, looking oblivious to all that went on and
somewhat resembling, I flattered myself, portraits of Napoleon beholding
the burning of Moscow.

On the high road Jimmy began to recover his form--if it be worth the
name--but, as if to show that he was all right, and never had been
otherwise, he put the car at its quickest pace, which was so far from
safe on a road dotted with carts that I began to expect trouble; and if
it hadn't been for Miss Rando