Not a bit of good tryin' to deceive me.... You might as well own up. I
can keep a secret as well as the next one."
A tapping of my foot. A slamming of a wardrobe door, which was able to
squeak furiously without loss of dignity.
"What _were_ you before my lady took you on?... Look here, if you don't
answer, I shall begin to think the secret's got to do with _those_." And
he pointed to the dressing table, where the jewels still lay. He even
put out his hand and took up the bursting sun. (How I sympathized with
it for bursting!) "Worth somethin'--what?"
"You can think whatever you like," I flashed at him, "if only you'll go
out of this room."
"Pity your chauffeur isn't at hand for you to run to," Bertie half
sneered, half laughed, for he was keeping his hateful, teasing good
nature. "And by the way, talkin' of him, since you're such a little
prude, I'll just warn you in a friendly way to look out for that chap.
You don't know his history--what? I'm sure the governor doesn't."
"Sir Samuel knows he can drive, and that he's a _gentleman_," said I,
with meaning emphasis.
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