"It follows that you are a higher Buddhist, and that you willed I should come out. Your theory of sitting on the door-mat, is it? wobbles a bit in practice, because I really ran downstairs to tell Mrs. Devar something I had forgotten previously. Not finding her, I decided on a stroll. Instead of crossing the road I walked up to the left a couple of blocks. Then I noticed the pier, and meant to have a look at it before returning to the hotel. Anyhow, you wanted me, Mr. Fitzroy, and here I am. What can I do for you?" Her tone of light raillery, supplemented by that truly daring adaptation of the method of gaining a cause favored by the esoteric philosophy of the East, went far to restore Medenham's wandering faculties. "I wanted to ask you a few questions, Miss Vanrenen," he explained. "Pray do, as they say in Boston." But he was not quite himself yet. He noticed that the lights were extinguished in the corner of the second floor. "Is that your room?" he asked, pointing to it. "Yes." Her air of blank amazement supplied a further tonic. "Queer thing!" he said. "I thought so. More of the occult, I suppose. But I really wished to speak to you about Mrs. Devar." Cynthia was obviously relieved. "Dear me!" she cried. "You two have taken a violent dislike to each other. You see, Mr. Fitzroy, we Americans are rather pleased than otherwise if a man acts and speaks like a gentleman even though he has to earn a living by hustling an automobile, but your sure-enough British dames exact a kind of servility from a chauffeur that doesn't seem to fit in with your make-up. Servility is a hard word, but it is the best I can throw on the screen at the moment, and I'm real sorry if I have hurt your feelings by using it." Medenham smiled. Each instant his calmer judgment showed more and more clearly that he could not offer any valid excuse for interference in the girl's affairs. For all he knew to the contrary, she might be tremulous with delight at the prospect of becoming a French countess; if that were so, the fact that he disapproved of Mrs. Devar's matchmaking tactics would be received very coldly. Cynthia's natural interpretation of his allusion to her chaperon offered a means of escape from a difficult position. "I am greatly obliged by your hint," he said. "Not that my lack of good manners is of much account, seeing that I am only a stop gap for the courtly Simmonds, but I shall endeavor to profit by it in my next situation." "Now you are getting at me," cried Cynthia, her eyes sparkling somewhat. "Do you know, Mr. Fitzroy, I am inclined to think you are not a chauffeur at all." "I assure you there is not a man living who understands my special type of car better," he protested. "That isn't what I mean, so don't wriggle. You met Simmonds when he was in trouble, and just offered to take his place for a day or so, thereby doing him a good turn--isn't that the truth?" "Yes." "And you are not in the automobile business?"