thanked his stars for that word "madam." Certainly the mere sound of it seemed to soothe Mrs. Devar's jarred nerves, and the appearance of the Mercury was even more reassuring. "Ah, well," she said, "we are not traveling into the wilds. If desirable, we can always return to town by train. By the way, chauffeur, what is your name?" For an instant Medenham hesitated. Then he took the plunge, strong in the belief that a half-forgotten transaction between himself and "Jimmy" Devar would prevent that impecunious warrior from discussing him freely in the family circle. "George Augustus Fitzroy," he said. Mrs. Devar's brows knitted; she was regaining her self-possession, and a sarcastic smile now chased away a perplexing thought. She was about to say something when Cynthia Vanrenen broke in excitedly: "I declare to goodness if the hotel people have not fastened on our boxes already. They seem to know our minds better than we do ourselves. And here is the man with the wraps.... Please be careful with that camera.... Yes, put it there, with the glasses. What are you doing, Fitzroy?" for Medenham was discharging his obligations to the boy in buttons and a porter. "Paying my debts," said he, smiling at her. "Of course you realize that I pay all expenses?" she said, with just the requisite note of hauteur in her voice that the situation called for. "This is entirely a personal matter, I assure you, Miss Vanrenen." Medenham could not help smiling; he stooped and felt a tire unnecessarily. Cynthia was puzzled. She wrote that evening to Irma Norris, her cousin in Philadelphia--"Fitzroy is a new line in chauffeurs." "By the way, where is your trunk?" she demanded suddenly. "I came away unexpectedly, so I have arranged that it shall be sent to Brighton by rail," he explained. Apparently, there was nothing more to be said. The two ladies seated themselves, and the car sped out into the Strand. They watched the driver's adroit yet scrupulously careful dealing with the traffic, and Cynthia, at least, quickly grasped the essential fact that the six cylinders worked with a silent power that held cheap every other vehicle passed or overtaken on the road. "It is a lovely automobile," she murmured with a little sigh of satisfaction. "Quite an up-to-date car, I fancy," agreed her friend. "I don't understand how this man, Fitzroy, can afford to use it for hiring purposes. Yet, that is his affair--not mine. I rather like him. Don't you?" "His manners are somewhat off-hand, but such persons are given to aping their superiors. George Augustus Fitzroy, too--it is ridiculous. Fitzroy is the family name of the Earls of Fairholme, and their eldest sons have been christened George Augustus ever since the beginning of the eighteenth century." "The name seems to fit our chauffeur 

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