"Why should you waste your time flirting with a wretched chauffeur?"
"Yes, why? Especially as I've other things to think of. But I don't want your advice about those things now. I wouldn't have it even if you begged me to. You've been too unkind."
"I beg your pardon, with all my heart," he said, his voice like itself again. "I'm a brute, I know! It's that beastly temper of mine, that is always getting me into trouble—with myself and others. Do forgive me, and let me help you. I want to very much."
"I just said I wouldn't if you begged."
"I don't beg. I insist. I'll inflict my advice on you, whether you like it or not. It's this: get the man out of Avignon the first thing to-morrow morning."
"That's easy to say!"
"And easy to do—I hope. What would be his first act, do you think, if he got a wire from you, dated Genoa, and worded something like this: 'Hear you are following me. I send this to Avignon on chance, to tell you persecution must cease or I will find means to protect myself. Lys d'Angely.'"
"I think he'd hurry off to Genoa as fast as he could go—by train, leaving his car, or sending it on by rail. But how could I date a telegram from Genoa?"
"I know a man there who—"
"Elise, I'm astonished at you!" exclaimed the shocked voice of Lady Turnour. "Talking in corridors with strange young men! and you've been out, too, without my permission, and with my jewel-bag! How dare you?"