“Or the waiter that was,” lighting another cigarette. “He was awfully quick and civil; every one liked Owen.” “Did it strike you, Joey, that he was something above his class--er--in fact, a gentleman?” And as Aurea asked the question she coloured faintly. “No, my dear,” rejoined her friend, with decision. “I have not a scrap of imagination, or an ounce of romance in my composition. Such an idea never dawned on me. You see, Toby and I go about the world so much; although we have two big houses, we almost live in hotels, and I am accustomed to being served by men with nice voices and agreeable manners, who speak several foreign languages. _So_ sorry to dispel your illusions, but Owen waited to the manner born. He may have been trained in some big house, and been a gentleman’s gentleman. I fancy he is a roving character. I think some one said he had been on a ranch up-country.” Aurea looked out of the window, and was silent. Joey knew the world, and Joey, for all her free-and-easy ways and her noisy manners, was _au fond_ a sensible, practical, little person. “I dare say you are right, Joey,” she remarked at last. “Why, of course I am! I grant you that the man is rather an unusual type of chauffeur, to come down to a dull situation in a dull little village; but, for goodness’ sake, don’t run away with the idea that he is some swell in disguise, for he is _not_; he is just ‘off the cab rank’--no more and no less. I admit his good looks, but that’s nothing. One of the handsomest young men I ever saw was a London carriage groom. I give you my word, his eyelashes were half an inch long! In these days, too, there are such hideous scandals about women and their smart chauffeurs, that one cannot be too reserved or too careful.” “Joey!” cried Aurea, turning on her with a crimson face. “Oh, I’m not thinking of you, darling; you are as cold and austere as Diana herself. I do wish you were not so icy to some one--you know who I mean.” But Aurea’s expression was not encouraging, and her vivacious companion continued-- “Isn’t this a darling old place?” rising and looking over the Italian gardens and sloping lawns. “Somehow I always feel sorry for those Davenants, and as if we had no business here, and it was still theirs. We have their heirlooms too--the Davenants’ Vandyke, the lacquered cabinets, the Chippendale chairs. Dad bought them, as they matched the place; but _we_ don’t fit in. Dad and mum were far happier in London; keeping up a great estate and a great position is an awful strain when one was not caught young. Do you know, the servants are a frightful trial; they find the country dull. And at the last ball we had, nearly all the hired waiters were intoxicated; they drank most of the champagne, and one of them handed a lemonade to Lord Mottisfont, and said there was no fiz left! The mum was so mortified she wept, poor dear.” “Well, everything always seems to go smoothly, quite London fashion, and without a hitch,” said Aurea consolingly.