"As to that, probably I'm no judge. I never talked to one except my mother's, and she—wasn't at all like you."
"Well, that proves my point. The very fact that your mother had a maid, shows you're an odd sort of chauffeur."
"Oh! You mean because I wasn't always 'what I seem,' and that kind of Family Herald thing? Do you think it odd that a chauffeur should be by way of being a gentleman? Why, nowadays the woods and the story-books are full of us. But things are made pleasanter for us in books than in real life. Out of books people fight shy of us. A 'shuvvie' with the disadvantage of having been to a public school, or handicapped by not dropping his H's, must knock something off his screw."
"Are you really in earnest, or are you joking?" I asked.
"Half and half, perhaps. Anyway, it isn't a particularly agreeable position—if that's not too big a word for it. I envy you your imagination, in which you can shut yourself up in a kind of armour against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."
"You wouldn't envy me if you had to do Lady Turnour's hair," I sighed.
The chauffeur laughed out aloud. "Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed.
"I'm sure Sir Samuel would forbid, anyhow," said I.
"Do you know, I don't think this trip's going to be so bad?" said he.
"Neither do I," I murmured in my veil.