“Even chauffeurs?”

It was my turn to laugh now.  “A chauffeur with a lady’s-maid.”

“You seem an odd sort of lady’s-maid.”

“I begin to think you’re an odd sort of chauffeur.”

“Why?”

“Well—­” I hesitated, though I knew why, perfectly.  “Aren’t you rather abrupt in your questions?  Suppose we change the subject.  You seem to have tamed this tiger until it obeys you like a kitten.”

“That’s what I get my wages for.  But why do you think I’m an odd sort of chauffeur?”

“For that matter, then, why do you think I’m an odd lady’s-maid?”

“As to that, probably I’m no judge.  I never talked to one except my mother’s, and she—­wasn’t at all like you.”

“Well, that proves my point.  The very fact that your mother had a maid, shows you’re an odd sort of chauffeur.”

“Oh!  You mean because I wasn’t always ‘what I seem,’ and that kind of Family Herald thing?  Do you think it odd that a chauffeur should be by way of being a gentleman?  Why, nowadays the woods and the story-books are full of us.  But things are made pleasanter for us in books than in real life.  Out of books people fight shy of us.  A ‘shuvvie’ with the disadvantage of having been to a public school, or handicapped by not dropping his H’s, must knock something off his screw.”

“Are you really in earnest, or are you joking?” I asked.

“Half and half, perhaps.  Anyway, it isn’t a particularly agreeable position—­if that’s not too big a word for it.  I envy you your imagination, in which you can shut yourself up in a kind of armour against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

“You wouldn’t envy me if you had to do Lady Turnour’s hair,” I sighed.

The chauffeur laughed out aloud.  “Heaven forbid!” he exclaimed.

“I’m sure Sir Samuel would forbid, anyhow,” said I.

“Do you know, I don’t think this trip’s going to be so bad?” said he.

“Neither do I,” I murmured in my veil.

We both laughed a good deal then.  But luckily the glass was expensively thick, and the car was singing.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked.

“Something that it takes a little sense of humour to see, when you’ve been down on your luck,” said he.

“A sense of humour was the only thing my ancestors left me,” said I.  “I don’t wonder you laugh.  It really is quaintly funny.”

“Do you think we’re laughing at the same thing?”

“I’m almost sure of it.”

“Do tell me your part, and let’s compare notes.”

“Well, it’s something that nobody but us in this car—­unless it’s the car itself—­knows.”

“Then it is the same thing.  They haven’t an idea of it, and wouldn’t believe it if anyone told them.  Yes, it is funny.”

“About their not being—­”

“While you—­”

“And you—­”

“Thanks.  A lady—­”