“Dear me!” said Sylvia. “That _is_ a new view of him!” “Well, I said I’d warn you. I hope you don’t mind.” Sylvia smiled. “I thought you had set out to persuade me to see him again!” Bates watched her. “I don’t know,” he said, “maybe mine was the best way to persuade you.” “Why, how charming!” she exclaimed, with a laugh. “You are really subtle.” “We want to fight the introduction of the English system, Miss Castleman! I don’t mind an aristocracy, because I’m one of ’em; but I don’t want any kings in America! It’s a patriotic duty to pull them off their thrones and keep them off.” Sylvia pondered. It was a most entertaining view. “And the queens too?” she laughed. “Yes, and the queens too!” There was a pause, while she thought. Then she said, “Yes, I think you’re right, Mr. Bates. You may tell His Majesty that I’ll see him—once more!” § 16 Sylvia had said that she would go motoring with van Tuiver the following afternoon. He came in a cab, explaining that he had been to dinner in Cambridge, and that his car had run out of fuel. “I’ve a chauffeur who is troubled with absent-mindedness,” he remarked, with what Sylvia soon realized was enforced good-nature. For the car was longer in coming than he expected, and when at last it arrived, she was given an exhibition of his system of manners as applied to servants. The chauffeur tried to make some explanation. There had been an accident, which he wanted to tell of; but the other would not give him a chance. “I’ve not the least desire to listen to you,” he said. “I do not employ you to make excuses. I told you when you came to me that I required promptness from my servants. You have had your opportunity, and you are not equal to it. You may consider yourself under notice.” “Very good, sir,” said the man; and Sylvia stepped into the car and sat thinking, not hearing what van Tuiver said to her. It was not the words he had used; he had a right to give his chauffeur notice, she told herself. It was his tone which had struck her like a knife—a tone of insolence, of deliberate provocativeness. Yet he, apparently, had no idea that she would notice it; doubtless he would think it meant a lack of breeding in her to notice it. She wished to do justice to him; and she knew that it was partly her Southern shrinking from the idea of white servants. She was used to negroes, about whose feelings one did not bother. If Aunt Nannie discovered one of the chambermaids trying on her mistress’ ball-gown, it would be, “Get out of here, you bob-tailed monkey!” Or if Uncle Mandeville’s boy forgot to feed a favorite horse, the rascal would be dragged out by one ear and soundly caned—and would expect it, knowing that if it was never done the horse would never be fed. But to talk so to a white man—and not in a blaze of anger, but with cold and concentrated malevolence!