Randolph seemed to wish to restore me to my old, lost footing. "You must lunch with us, Brown," she said, with a smile that goes straight to one's heart. But I was not in a gracious mood. I had had enough of Aunt Mary; I could not stand the haughty Payne. I answered, therefore, rather shortly. There were certain adjustments to be done on the car which would occupy some time, I said, and I would take my luncheon later. Her poor little friendly smile went out, like a lamp extinguished. For an instant she lingered, then turned away without a word, and I could have bitten out my own surly tongue.
To justify myself I pottered with the car, then went moping off to another hotel, and tried to restore my lost spirits with paté de joie de canard and fresh walnuts, which would have delighted the palate of a happier man.
At it was I had neither the heart nor the stomach to linger over the feast, and consequently got back long before the others were ready for me. They didn't hurry themselves. I promise you. While busying myself in nicking dust off the car, a courteous little crowd assembled and questioned me as to the make of the car (expressing surprise when they heard it was all English, even to the tyres) and as to how far I had come. When I said "From Dieppe viâ Biarritz" a murmur of respect rippled to the outer edge of the group, and at this moment my party appeared.
Payne wore a swaggering air, and looked now like Little Lord Fauntleroy gone wrong. He was far too
