The Motor Maid

								

or any other silly language into which Latin has degenerated. But
luckily English gold doesn't need to be translated."
"It loses in translation," said I, amused. I sat down on my bag as I
spoke, and timorously invited Beau (never was name less appropriate) to
be patted. He arose from the blanket and accepted my overtures with an
expression which may have been intended for a smile, or a threat of the
most appalling character. I have seen such legs as his on old-fashioned
silver teapots; and the crook in his tail would have made it useful as a
door-knocker.
"I don't think I ever saw him take so to a stranger," exclaimed his
mistress, suddenly beaming.
"I wonder you risked him with me in such close quarters then," said I.
"Wouldn't it have been safer if you'd had your maid in the compartment
with you----"
"My maid? My tyrant!" snorted the old lady. "She's the one creature on
earth I am afraid of, and she knows it. When we got to Dover, and she
saw the Channel wobbling about a little, she said it was a great nasty
wet thing, and she wouldn't go on it. When I insisted, she showed
symptoms of seasickness; and in consequence she is waiting for me in
Dover till I finish the business that's taking me to Italy. I had no
more experience than she, but I had courage. It's perhaps a question
of class. Servants consider only themselves. You, too, I see, have
courage. I was inclined to think poorly of you when you first came in,
and to wish I'd been extravagant enough to take the two beds for myself,
because I thought you were afraid of Beau. Yet now you're patting him."
"I was rather afraid at first," I admitted. "I never met an English
bull dog socially before."
"They're more angels than dogs. Their one interest in life is love--for
their friends; and they wouldn't hurt a fly."
"Larger game would be more in their way, I should think," said I. "But
I'm glad he likes me. I like to be liked. It makes me feel more at home
in life."
"H'm! That's a funny idea!" remarked the old lady. "'At home in life!'
You've made yourself pretty well at home in this wagon-lit, anyhow,
taking off all your clothes and putting on your nightgown. I should
never have thought of that. It seems hardly decent. Suppose we should be
killed."
"Most people do try to die in their nightgowns, when you come to think
of it," said I.
"Well, you have a quaint way of putting things. There's something very
original about you, my dear young woman. I thought you were mysterious
at first, but I believe it's only the effect of originality."
"I don't know which I'd rather be," I said, "original or mysterious, if
I couldn't afford both. But I'm not a young woman."
"Goodness!" exclaimed the old lady, wrinkling up her eyes to stare at
me. "I may be pretty blind, but it can't be make-up."
I laughed. "I mean je suis jeune fille. I'm not a young woman. I'm a
young girl."
"Dear me, is there any difference?"