The Motor Maid | Page 5

be made more
comfortable. I'm very well as I am. Do you want to go to sleep?"
"I want to, but I know I can't. I'm getting hungry. Are you?"
"Getting? I've got. If Simpkins were here I'd have her make us tea, in
my tea-basket."
"I'll make it if you like," I volunteered.
"A French--a half French--girl make tea?"
"It's the American half that knows how."
"You look too ornamental to be useful. But you can try."
I did try, and succeeded. It was rather fun, and never did tea taste so
delicious. There were biscuits to go with it, which Beau shared; and I
do wish that people (other people) were obliged to make faces when
they eat, such as Beau has to make, because if so, one could add a new
interest to life by inviting even the worst bores to dinner.
I was fascinated with his contortions, and I did not attempt to conceal
my sudden change of opinion concerning Beau as a companion. When I
had humbly invited him to drink out of my saucer, which I held from
high tide to low, I saw that my conquest of his mistress was complete.
Already we had exchanged names, as well as some confidences. I knew
that she was Miss Paget, and she knew that I was Lys d'Angely; but
after the tea-drinking episode she became doubly friendly.
She told me that, owing to an unforeseen circumstance (partly, even

largely, connected with Beau) which had caused a great upheaval in her
life, she had now not a human being belonging to her, except her maid
Simpkins, of whom she would like to get rid if only she knew how.
"Talk of the Old Man of the Sea!" she sighed. "He was an afternoon
caller compared with Simpkins. She's been on my back for twenty
years. I suppose she will be for another twenty, unless I slam the door
of the family vault in her face."
"Couldn't Beau help you?" I asked.
"Even Beau is powerless against her. She has hypnotized him with
marrow bones."
"You've escaped from her for the present," I suggested. "She's on the
other side of the Channel. Now is your time to be bold."
"Ah, but I can't stop out of England for ever, and I tell you she's waiting
for me at Dover. A relative (a very eccentric one, and quite different
from the rest of us, or he wouldn't have made his home abroad) has left
me a house in Italy, some sort of old castle, I believe--so unsuitable!
I'm going over to see about selling it for I've no one to trust but myself,
owing to the circumstances of which I spoke. I want to get back as soon
as possible--I hope in a few weeks, though how I shall manage without
any Italian, heaven may know--I don't! Do you speak it?"
"A little."
"Well, I wish I could have you with me. You'd make a splendid
companion for an old woman like me: young, good to look at, energetic
(or you wouldn't be travelling about alone), brave (conquered your fear
of Beau), accomplished (three languages, and goodness knows what
besides!), presence of mind (the way you whisked my clothes off),
handy (I never tasted better tea)--altogether you sum up ideally. What a
pity you're rich, and out of the market!"
"If I look rich my appearance must be more distinguished than I
supposed--and it's also very deceiving," said I.

"You're rich enough to travel for pleasure in _wagon-lits_, and have
silver-fitted bags."
"I'm not travelling for pleasure. You exaggerate my bags and my
_wagon-lits_, for I've only one of each; and both were given me by a
friend who was at the Convent with me."
"The Convent! Good heavens! are you an escaping nun?"
I laughed. "I went to school at a Convent. That was when I thought I
was going to be rich--at least, rich enough to be like other girls. And if
I am 'escaping' from something, it isn't from the arms of religion."
"If you're not rich, and aren't going to relatives, why not take an
engagement with me? Come, I'm in earnest. I always make up my mind
suddenly, if it's anything important, and hardly ever regret it. I'm sure
we should suit. You've got no nonsense about you."
"Oh yes I have, lots!" I broke in. "That's all I have left--that, and my
sense of humour. But seriously, you're very kind--to take me on faith
like this--especially when you began by thinking me mysterious. I'd
accept thankfully, only--I'm engaged already."
"To be married, I suppose you mean?"
"Thank heaven, no! To a Princess."
"Dear me, one would think you were a man hater!"
"So I am, a _one_-man hater. What Simpkins is to you, that