to wheel her machine
again.

"Yes?" she said, stopping and staring a little, with the colour in her
cheeks deepening.

"I should not have alighted if I had not--imagined that you--er, waved
something white--" He paused.

She looked at him doubtfully. He HAD seen it! She decided that he was
not an unredeemed rough taking advantage of a mistake, but an innocent
soul meaning well while seeking happiness. "I DID wave my handkerchief,"
she said. "I'm very sorry. I am expecting--a friend, a gentleman,"--she
seemed to flush pink for a minute. "He is riding a bicycle and dressed
in--in brown; and at a distance, you know--"

"Oh, quite!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, bearing up in manly fashion against
his bitter disappointment. "Certainly."

"I'm awfully sorry, you know. Troubling you to dismount, and all that."

"No trouble. 'Ssure you," said Mr. Hoopdriver, mechanically and bowing
over his saddle as if it was a counter. Somehow he could not find it
in his heart to tell her that the man was beyond there with a punctured
pneumatic. He looked back along the road and tried to think of something
else to say. But the gulf in the conversation widened rapidly and
hopelessly. "There's nothing further," began Mr. Hoopdriver desperately,
recurring to his stock of cliches.

"Nothing, thank you," she said decisively. And immediately, "This IS the
Ripley road?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Ripley is about two miles from here.
According to the mile-stones."

"Thank you," she said warmly. "Thank you so much. I felt sure there was
no mistake. And I really am awfully sorry--"

"Don't mention it," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Don't mention it." He
hesitated and gripped his handles to mount. "It's me," he said, "ought
to be sorry." Should he say it? Was it an impertinence? Anyhow!--"Not
being the other gentleman, you know."

He tried a quietly insinuating smile that he knew for a grin even as
he smiled it; felt she disapproved--that she despised him, was overcome
with shame at her expression, turned his back upon her, and began (very
clumsily) to mount. He did so with a horrible swerve, and went
pedalling off, riding very badly, as he was only too painfully aware.
Nevertheless, thank Heaven for the mounting! He could not see her
because it was so dangerous for him to look round, but he could imagine
her indignant and pitiless. He felt an unspeakable idiot. One had to be
so careful what one said to Young Ladies, and he'd gone and treated her