That recalled him to a sense of erratic steering, and
he pulled himself together. In the lanes he breathed freer, and a less
formal conversation presently began.

"You've ridden out of Chichester in a great hurry," said Jessie.

"Well, the fact of it is, I'm worried, just a little bit. About this
machine."

"Of course," she said. "I had forgotten that. But where are we going?"

"Jest a turning or two more, if you don't mind," said Hoopdriver.

"Jest a mile or so. I have to think of you, you know. I should feel more
easy. If we was locked up, you know--Not that I should mind on my own
account--"

They rode with a streaky, grey sea coming and going on their left hand.
Every mile they put between themselves and Chichester Mr. Hoopdriver
felt a little less conscience-stricken, and a little more of the gallant
desperado. Here he was riding on a splendid machine with a Slap-up girl
beside him. What would they think of it in the Emporium if any of them
were to see him? He imagined in detail the astonishment of Miss Isaacs
and of Miss Howe. "Why! It's Mr. Hoopdriver," Miss Isaacs would say.
"Never!" emphatically from Miss Howe. Then he played with Briggs, and
then tried the 'G.V.' in a shay. "Fancy introducing 'em to her--My
sister pro tem." He was her brother Chris--Chris what?--Confound it!
Harringon, Hartington--something like that. Have to keep off that topic
until he could remember. Wish he'd told her the truth now--almost. He
glanced at her. She was riding with her eyes straight ahead of her.
Thinking. A little perplexed, perhaps, she seemed. He noticed how well
she rode and that she rode with her lips closed--a thing he could never
manage.

Mr. Hoopdriver's mind came round to the future. What was she going to
do? What were they both going to do? His thoughts took a graver colour.
He had rescued her. This was fine, manly rescue work he was engaged
upon. She ought to go home, in spite of that stepmother. He must insist
gravely but firmly upon that. She was the spirited sort, of course, but
still--Wonder if she had any money? Wonder what the second-class fare
from Havant to London is? Of course he would have to pay that--it was
the regular thing, he being a gentleman. Then should he take her home?
He began to rough in a moving sketch of the return. The stepmother,
repentant of her indescribable cruelties, would be present,--even these
rich people have their troubles,--probably an uncle or two. The footman
would ann