“I—er—believe so.”
“Well, I can imagine you scowling out of a vizor. It would suit you admirably.”
“But I might not scowl.”
“Oh, yes, you would. Remember this morning. Just force yourself to think for a moment that I am Monsieur——”
She stopped abruptly.
“A little more to the left, please—and turn your face to the sun. There, that is capital.”
“Why should Fitzroy scowl at the recollection of Count Edouard?” demanded Mrs. Devar, her eyes devouring the telltale blush that suffused the girl’s face and neck.
“Only because the Count wished to supplant him as our chauffeur,” came the ready answer.
“I thought Monsieur Marigny’s offer a very courteous one.”
“Undoubtedly. But as I had to decide the matter I preferred to travel in a car that was at my own disposal.”