Hoopdriver would
have slowed up and read the inscription, but no!--the bicycle
would not let him. The road dropped a little into Milford, and
the thing shied, put down its head and bolted, and Mr. Hoopdriver
only thought of the brake when the fingerpost was passed. Then to
have recovered the point of intersection would have meant
dismounting. For as yet there was no road wide enough for Mr.
Hoopdriver to turn in. So he went on his way--or to be precise,
he did exactly the opposite thing. The road to the right was the
Portsmouth road, and this he was on went to Haslemere and
Midhurst. By that error it came about that he once more came upon
his fellow travellers of yesterday, coming on them suddenly,
without the slightest preliminary announcement and when they
least expected it, under the Southwestern Railway arch. "It's
horrible," said a girlish voice; "it's brutal--cowardly--" And
stopped.
His expression, as he shot out from the archway at them, may have
been something between a grin of recognition and a scowl of
annoyance at himself for the unintentional intrusion. But
disconcerted as he waas, he was yet able to appreciate something
of the peculiarity of their mutual attitudes. The bicycles were
Iying by the roadside, and the two riders stood face to face. The
other man in brown's attitude, as it flashed upon Hoopdriver, was
a deliberate pose; he twirled his moustache and smiled faintly,
and he was conscientiously looking amused. And the girl stood
rigid, her arms straight by her side, her handkerchief clenched
in her hand, and her face was flushed, with the faintest touch of
red upon her eyelids.
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