with coin harder if not brighter than the beaux yeux in question; but it would have hurt his feelings if I had refused, therefore I drank the tea and thanked the giver.
"You are being very kind to me," I said, "Mr. Bane or Dane; so do you mind telling me which it is?"
"Dane," he replied shortly. "Not that it matters. A chauffeur by any other name would smell as much of oil and petrol. It 's actually my real name, too. Are you surprised? I was either too proud or too stubborn to change it—I 'm not sure which—when I took up 'shuvving' for a livelihood."
"No, I'm not surprised," I said. "You don't look like the sort of man who would change his name as if it were a coat. I 've kept mine, too, to 'maid' with. You 'shuv,' I 'maid.' It sounds like an exercise in a strange language."
"That 's precisely what it is," he answered. "A difficult language to learn at first, but I 'm getting the 'hang' of it. I hope you won't need to pursue the study very thoroughly."
"And you think you will?"
"I think so," he said, his face hardening a little, and looking dogged. "I don't see any way out of it for the present."
I was silent for almost a whole minute—which can seem a long time to a woman—half hoping that he meant to tell me something about himself; how it was that he 'd decided to be a professional chauffeur, and so on. I was sure there must be a story, an interesting story—perhaps a romantic one—and if he confided in me, I would in him. Why not, when—on my part, at least—there 's
