in Provence.' Or, if you would prefer my not using your name, I ⸺"
"I see no reason why you should not use it," her ladyship cut in hastily, "and I'm sure Sir Samuel won't mind. Make a little extra money in that way if you like, while we 're on the road, as you have this talent."
She gave him back the book, quite graciously, and the chauffeur began sketching me. In three minutes there I was—the "abominable little flirt!" in hat and veil, with Lady Turnour's bag in my hand, quite a neat figure of a motor maid.
"You may put, if you like, 'Lady Turnour's maid,'" said that young person's mistress, "if you think it would give some personal interest to your sketch for the paper."
"Oh, this is for quite a different sort of thing," he explained. "Not devoted to society news at all: more for caricatures and funny bits."
"Oh, then I should certainly not wish my name to appear in that," returned her ladyship, her tone adding that, on the other hand, such a publication was as suitable as it was welcome to a portrait of me.
"Now, Elise, I wish you to take those things off at once, and come to my room," she finished. "Mind, I don't want you should keep me waiting! And you can hand over that bag."
No hope of another word between us! Mr. Jack Dane saw this, and that it would be unwise to try for it. Pocketing the sketch-book, he saluted Lady Turnour with a finger to the height of his eyebrows, which gesture visibly added to her sense of importance. Then, without glancing at me, he turned and walked off.
