Once or twice, she found some one to mind the car, and gave him a ticket for the theatre, in order that he might witness her performance. Tottie really was marvellous; it was no wonder that she was earning two hundred pounds a week! Her dancing, her agility, her vivacity, and her impudence, enraptured each nightly audience. There was something in her gaiety and her unstudied animation that reminded him of Aurea Morven; yet to think of the two in the same moment was neither more or less than profanation--the one was a sort of irresponsible imp, whilst the other resembled a beautiful and benevolent fairy. It was early in December, Tottie had run over to Paris with Mr. Cloake and suitable pals, and Wynyard had got his neck out of the collar for a few days. In fact, he had insisted on a holiday, and treated himself to a dinner at his club. Here he met some old friends--that is to say, young men of his own age, who had been at Eton, or in the Service with him. He always looked well turned out, and none of them ever thought of asking “What are you doing now?” except a schoolfellow, who said-- “I say, old man, we don’t often see _you_ here! What’s your job? I know the uncle has cut up rusty, and that you are on your own. Fellows say that you are down in some big steel works at Sheffield, and they have seen you out with the hounds.” “No, they’re wrong--that’s a bad shot. I don’t mind telling you, old pal, that I’m a _chauffeur_.” His friend stared, and then burst out into a roar of laughter. “Yes, I’m the chauffeur of the well-known Tottie Toye.” This information seemed to leave the other not only solemn, but speechless--which being the case, Wynyard went on to impart to him in confidence all the particulars of his uncle’s manifesto, and how he was endeavouring to keep himself in independence, without as much as a penny stamp from one of his relatives. “I’ve done eight months,” he said, “and I’ve saved thirty pounds. I seem to see the Winning Post.” “By George!” exclaimed his friend, “I don’t know how you can stick it. Fancy being mixed up with Tottie and her crowd!” “Oh, for that matter, I’ve nothing to say to them. ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ and the pay is good.” “I believe Tottie has a mania for spending money. She has been twice married; her extravagance is crazy, and her generosity boundless--of course, she is robbed all round. Now she has got into the hands of a fellow called Cloake--and unless I’m mistaken the end is near. Get out of it as soon as you can, Wynyard, my friend.” “I believe I shall. I can’t say it’s a job I fancy.”