“St. John, what affectation! Of course it’s John--plain John. I’ve engaged you on the recommendation of my friend, Lady Kesters. She says you are steady, efficient, and strictly _sober_,” looking him up and down; “she mentioned you were smart--I suppose she meant your clothes, eh?” Wynyard made no reply, but kept his gaze fixed steadily on a crack in the floor, and the old woman continued-- “Of course Lady Kesters knows you personally?” “Yes, ma’am.” “I hope I shall find you satisfactory and experienced.” “I hope so, ma’am.” “And not above your place--ahem!”--clearing her throat--“I have recently purchased a most beautiful motor, and I engaged you to drive it, and take great care of it; it is lined with real morocco leather, and cost, second-hand, five hundred pounds.” As she paused for a moment to see if he was properly impressed, he repeated his parrot’s cry of-- “Yes, ma’am.” “My sister and I propose to use it for paying calls at a distance. You must drive _very_ slowly and carefully, and keep the car in perfect order, and spotlessly clean.” “I’ll do my best, ma’am,” he assented. “Your wages will be, from to-day, two guineas a week. You will live in the village. We have arranged for you to board with a most respectable woman, and trust you will give her as little trouble as possible, and we shall expect to see you in church at least once on Sunday. You may join the Young Men’s Christian Association, and the choir--and----” But here he interrupted. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t think there’s anything about church attendance and singing in our agreement. Sunday, I presume, will be my day off, and I shall be glad of some exercise.” “You never mean to tell me you don’t go to church?” she demanded, fixing him with her little beady eyes; “as to exercise, you will get plenty of that in the week--doing odd jobs and going messages. We are only here about six months, and not nearly settled yet.” “I,” he was about to add, “go to church when I please;” but at this critical moment the door again opened, and another lady, much younger than his inquisitor, entered briskly. She had a long thin face, a kindly expression, and a pair of bright blue eyes which opened to their widest extent as she looked at Wynyard. “I heard our new chauffeur had come,” she began, rather breathlessly. “_My_ chauffeur, Susan, if you please,” corrected Miss Parrett, “seeing that I am paying his wages and he is to drive _my_ car.” Miss Susan coloured faintly, and answered with a nervous laugh-- “Yes, yes, dear, of course--of course.” “His name is Owen--John Owen--and I have been telling him of his duties, and how we only require to be driven about the country _quietly_--no dashing, no racing, no touring.” “Yes, my dear sister, that is all very well for you who are nervous; but I do love motoring, and I hope this young man will take me for miles, and let me see something of the country. I wish you would come with us, Bella, won’t you?”