However, the chauffeur met her eyes imperturbably, as he replaced the little scrap, opened the face of his watch, and announced, with staggering self-possession-- “Half-past six, Miss Susan.” Miss Susan turned hastily away, her maiden mind in a violent commotion. So Owen, the chauffeur, carried Aurea’s photograph about with him in his watch! What did it mean? Well, of course, it could only mean one thing, he was--and who could wonder--in love with the girl! Yes, and the conviction gave Miss Susan a violent shock; she was scandalised, she was pleased, and she was _not_ pleased--a peculiar and contrary state of mind. She determined to keep the amazing revelation to herself. Aurea must not be told on any account--it might put disturbing ideas into her head--it would not be proper; and for one whole week Miss Susan contained her mighty secret, which secret disagreed with her both mentally and physically. She was short and snappy--a new phase of her character--ate little, avoided the garden, and mainly subsisted on tea. At the end of seven long days she found her endurance had reached its limits, and, sitting with her back to the dim light of the Rectory drawing-room, Susan Parrett solemnly divulged to her niece the tale of her significant discovery. Was she shocked? Did she turn red and white? No, indeed; Aurea received the astonishing information with a peal of laughter. “Oh, my dearest Susie, what a tale! Why, it was no more my photograph than yours! Am I the only young woman that is known to Owen, the chauffeur?” This clever girl was so insistent and so amused that she actually persuaded her deluded aunt that her eyes had deceived her, and she had made a ridiculous and silly mistake--yet all the time the girl’s own heart sang to the tune that the story was _true_. This silent chauffeur was a gentleman who had been in the Service, and he carried her picture inside his watch. These two facts were of profound interest to Aurea Morven, and she turned them over in her mind many, many times a day; the result being, that she held herself as much as possible aloof from her aunts’ employé. When she did avail herself of the car, it was never to sit, as heretofore, outside by the driver, but within the stuffy interior. She shrank from coming into contact with a man who was seldom, to tell the honest truth, out of her thoughts. To garden-parties and tennis tournaments she now hailed her father, instead of accompanying Susan; and together they drove in the Rectory dog-cart--this arrangement entailing not a few excuses and pleadings, that were not too firmly based on the truth--and the poor forsaken car remained in the coach-house, or took Miss Parrett out for a brief and agonising airing.