I saw them off and came back to her. She was still standing in the same place, looking very thoughtful and frowning slightly; it was by no means the trustful expression with which her eyes had dwelt on Fillingford's. "Directly after lunch I must go down to Hatcham Ford and see Mr. Octon. I want you to come with me." "I? Not Miss Chatters?" "You--not Chat. Don't be stupid," she said. CHAPTER VIII A SECRET TREATY Jenny's first remark as we drove down together to Hatcham Ford seemed to have very little to do with the matter in hand. Still less to do with it, as one would think, had the fact that, just before starting, she had--I learned it afterwards--given Chat a piece of handsome old lace. "I like your name," she remarked. "'Austin Austin'--quite a good idea of your parents'! One's only got to drop the 'Mr.' to be friendly at once. No learning a strange Algernon, or Edward, or things of that kind!" "Do drop it," said I. "I have, Austin," said Jenny. She edged ever so little nearer to me, yet looked steadily out of the window on the other side of the brougham. "I'm frightened," she added in a low voice. "Upon my honor," said I, "I don't wonder at it." Such was the beginning of a remarkable kindness, a gentleness, almost an appealing attitude, which Jenny displayed during several weeks that followed. I must not flatter myself--Chat shared the rays of kindly sunshine. If I were promoted to the Christian name, Chat got the lace. "What will you call me?" she asked. "'Miss Driver' sounds--Say 'Jenny'!" "Before the county? Impossible!" "Well, then, when we're alone?" "Shall it be Lady Jenny? For ourselves?" She sighed acquiescence. "You're a great comfort to me," she added. "You'll come in, won't you, if you hear me scream?" "Come in?" "I've got to see him alone, you know." She raised her hands for an instant, as though in lamentation; "Oh, why is he like that?" There was no treating this lightly--for one who felt for her what I did. I was no such fool as not to see that her sudden access of graciousness had a purpose--I had to be conciliated and stroked the right way for some reason; so doubtless had Chat. But again I was, so I humbly trust, no such churl as to resent the purpose--though I did not know precisely what it was. I was her 'man,' as the old word was--her vassal. If my liking or my honor refused that situation, well and good--I could end it. While it lasted, I was hers. Within me the thing went deeper still than that. She was frightened. Therefore she was very gracious, seeking allies however humble. I declare that I have always limited my expectation of attachments entirely disinterested. Are there any? Who cherishes a friend from whom there is neither profit nor pleasure to be had? Or, at any rate, from whom neither has been had? The past obligation is often acknowledged--and acquitted--with a five-pound note.