"But what IS your name?"
"Name!" said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Why!--Benson, of course."
"Mr. Benson--yes it's really very stupid of me. But I can never
remember names. I must make a note on my cuff." She clicked a
little silver pencil and wrote the name down. "If I could write
to my friend. I believe she would be able to help me to an
independent life. I could write to her--or telegraph. Write, I
think. I could scarcely explain in a telegram. I know she would
help me."
Clearly there was only one course open to a gentleman under the
circumstances. "In that case," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "if you don't
mind trusting yourself to a stranger, we might continue as we are
perhaps. For a day or so. Until you heard." (Suppose thirty
shillings a day, that gives four days, say four thirties is hun'
and twenty, six quid,--well, three days, say; four ten.)
"You are very good to me."
His expression was eloquent.
"Very well, then, and thank you. It's wonderful--it's more than I
deserve that you--" She dropped the theme abruptly. "What was our
bill at Chichester?"
"Eigh?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, feigning a certain stupidity. There
was a brief discussion. Secretly he was delighted at her
insistence in paying. She carried her point. Their talk came
round to their immediate plans for the day. They decided to ride
easily, through Havant, and stop, perhaps, at Fareham or
Southampton. For the previous day had tried them both. Holding
the map extended on his knee, Mr. Hoopdriver's eye fell by chance
on the bicycle at his feet.
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