“Well, no--I suppose, rather an advantage! I thought you were my manager, or I wouldn’t have let you in,” and she pulled down her sleeves, and threw the stump of her cigarette into the fireplace. “You see, though I’m Mrs. Cavendish Foote, my professional name is Tottie Toye. I dare say, you have seen me on the boards?” “Yes, I have had the pleasure,” he answered politely. “Oh my!” she ejaculated. “Well, anyhow, you’ve got pretty manners. Can you drive?” “Yes.” “I mean in London traffic. I don’t want to get smashed up, you know; if I break a leg, where am I? How long were you in your last place?” “Six months.” “And your reason for leaving?” “They gave up keeping a motor.” “_Idiots!_” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t live without mine! Your job will be to take me to the shop, and fetch me back at night, and to run me about London in the daytime, and out into the country on Sundays--home on Monday night. Do you think you can manage all that?” “I think so.” “The car is in the garage close to this. I dare say you would like to take her out for a run and try her? I shall want you this evening at seven o’clock.” “Very well,” he agreed. “I suppose you’re one of these gentlemen that have come down in the world, and, of course, a chauffeur has a ripping good time. I like your looks. By the way, what’s your name?” “Owen.” “And I suspect you are at this game, because you are _owing_ money--eh?” and she burst into a shriek of laughter at her own joke. “Well, life has its ups and downs! If it was all just flat, I should be bored stiff. I’ve had some queer old turns myself.” At this moment the door opened, and a stout, prosperous-looking gentleman made his appearance--red-faced, blue-chinned, wonderfully got up, with shining hair, and shining boots. “Hullo, Tottie!” he exclaimed; “who have we got here?” glancing suspiciously at Owen. “A new Johnny--eh--you _naughty_ girl?” “No, no, dear old man,” she protested; “and do you know, that you are twenty minutes late? so I have given him your precious time. This”--waving her hand at Owen--“is Mr. Cloake, my manager. Mr. Cloake, let me present you to my new chauffeur.” CHAPTER XXIX TOTTIE TOYE Miss Tottie Toye’s Renault was a beauty, and, after the old rickety green car, it afforded Wynyard a real pleasure to handle it. He took it for a trial turn to Bushey, in order to get accustomed to its mechanism--for every motor has its peculiar little ways and its own little tempers--and punctually at seven o’clock he was at Rockingham Mansions, awaiting his employer, the dancer. Presently, heralded by her high, shrill voice, she appeared, accompanied by a melancholy young man, and bringing with her such a reek of scent, that it almost deadened the petrol. Tottie was wrapped in a magnificent pink velvet cloak trimmed with ermine, and, as she stepped into the car, turned to her companion and said-- “Teddy boy, just look at my beautiful new chauffeur! Isn’t he like a young duke?”