astonishment. And then he had passed them, and was riding on towards
Haslemere to make what he could of the swift picture that had
photographed itself on his brain.

"Rum," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "It's DASHED rum!"

"They were having a row."

"Smirking--" What he called the other man in brown need not trouble us.

"Annoying her!" That any human being should do that!

"WHY?"

The impulse to interfere leapt suddenly into Mr. Hoopdriver's mind. He
grasped his brake, descended, and stood looking hesitatingly back. They
still stood by the railway bridge, and it seemed to Mr. Hoopdriver's
fancy that she was stamping her foot. He hesitated, then turned his
bicycle round, mounted, and rode back towards them, gripping his courage
firmly lest it should slip away and leave him ridiculous. "I'll offer
'im a screw 'ammer," said Mr. Hoopdriver. Then, with a wave of fierce
emotion, he saw that the girl was crying. In another moment they heard
him and turned in surprise. Certainly she had been crying; her eyes
were swimming in tears, and the other man in brown looked exceedingly
disconcerted. Mr. Hoopdriver descended and stood over his machine.

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he said, looking the other man in brown
squarely in the face. "No accident?"

"Nothing," said the other man in brown shortly. "Nothing at all,
thanks."

"But," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a great effort, "the young lady is
crying. I thought perhaps--"

The Young Lady in Grey started, gave Hoopdriver one swift glance, and
covered one eye with her handkerchief. "It's this speck," she said.
"This speck of dust in my eye."

"This lady," said the other man in brown, explaining, "has a gnat in her
eye."

There was a pause. The young lady busied herself with her eye. "I
believe it's out," she said. The other man in brown made movements
indicating commiserating curiosity concerning the alleged fly. Mr.
Hoopdriver--the word is his own--stood flabber-gastered. He had all the
intuition of the simple-minded. He knew there was no fly. But the
ground was suddenly cut from his feet. There is a limit to
knighterrantry--dragons and false knights are all very well, but flies!
Fictitious flies! Whatever the trouble was, it was evidently not his
affair. He felt he had made a fool of himself again. He would have
mumbled some sort of apology; but the other man in brown gave him no
time, turned on him abruptly, even fiercely. "I hope," he said, "that
your curiosity is satisfied?