had waved her wand; only instead of a ball dress she had given him, in place of his black leather, a suit of grey clothes; one of those high, turnover collars I love on a good-looking man; a dark necktie, and what we call a "Derby" hat and the English call a "bowler." He was nice! I don't know if I'm a judge of a man's clothes, but to me they seemed as good form as any tailor in the world could cut. Perhaps the Honourable John gave them to him. Poor dear! he's far too fine a fellow really to have to wear another man's cast-off garments; but I suppose Providence must know best, and, anyhow, I'm sure the H. J. never looked half as nice in the things.
Brown had on also a mysterious air, which seemed to go with the clothes, and he asked if I'd mind taking a short run with him, without knowing beforehand where I was going. I said that, on the contrary, I should like it. That seemed to please him. He helped me in (not that I needed it), the car started with a touch, and we began to thread the streets of the town behind the Château, I wondering what was going to happen. When I had been in this car before, it was to travel "on the rims," you know. Now, on our four-plump new Michelins from Paris it was like being in a balloon, so easy was the motion even over the badly paved streets.
We wound round under the high wall of the Château, and came in a few minutes to a huge gateway. As we slowed down this gateway opened mysteriously from within to show a dim corkscrew of a road winding upward. I opened my mouth to
