"And you think you will?"

"I think so," he said, his face hardening a little, and looking dogged.
"I don't see any way out of it for the present."

I was silent for almost a whole minute--which can seem a long time to a
woman--half hoping that he meant to tell me something about himself; how
it was that he'd decided to be a professional chauffeur, and so on. I
was sure there must be a story, an interesting story--perhaps a romantic
one--and if he confided in me, I would in him. Why not, when--on my
part, at least--there's nothing to conceal, and we're bound to be
companions of the Road for weal or woe? But if he felt any temptation to
be expansive he resisted it, like a true Englishman; and to break a
silence which grew almost embarrassing I was driven to ask him, quite
brazenly, if he had no curiosity to know my name.

"Not exactly curiosity," said he, smiling his pleasant smile again. "I'm
never curious about people I--like, or feel that I'm going to like. It
isn't my nature."

"It's just the opposite with me."

"We're of opposite sexes."

"You believe that explains it? I don't know. Man may be a fellow
creature, I suppose--though they didn't teach me that at the Convent.
But tell me this: even if you have no curiosity, because you hope you
can manage to endure me, _do_ you think I look like an 'Elise'?"

"Somehow, you don't. Names have different colours for me. Elise is