"If I were your chauffeur, you would have the right to criticize. As I'm not, and never will be, you haven't. Mademoiselle, the car's ready. Will you get in?"
I jumped into my usual place, beside the driver's seat.
"Ah, you sit by the chauffeur, do you?" said Bertie. "I don't wonder he wants to keep his job."
For an instant I was afraid that Jack would strike him.
My blood rushed to my head, and I half rose from the seat, with a choked, warning whisper of "Jack!"
It was the first time I'd called him that, except to myself, and I saw him give the faintest start. He looked at the other man, and then, though Bertie stepped quickly forward as if to open the car door and jump in, he sprang to his place, and we were off.
"He means mischief," I said, when I felt able to speak.
"So do I, if he does," answered Jack.
"I wish you'd do me a favour," I went on. "Keep away from that awful ball to-night."
"What! With you there? I know my business better."