"That bicycle," he remarked, quite
irrelevantly, "wouldn't look the same machine if I got a big,
double Elarum instead of that little bell."
"Why?"
"Jest a thought." A pause.
"Very well, then,--Havant and lunch," said Jessie, rising.
"I wish, somehow, we could have managed it without stealing that
machine," said Hoopdriver. "Because it IS stealing it, you know,
come to think of it."
"Nonsense. If Mr. Bechamel troubles you--I will tell the whole
world--if need be."
"I believe you would," said Mr. Hoopdriver, admiring her. "You're
plucky enough--goodness knows."
Discovering suddenly that she was standing, he, too, rose and
picked up her machine. She took it and wheeled it into the road.
Then he took his own. He paused, regarding it. "I say!"said he.
"How'd this bike look, now, if it was enamelled grey?" She looked
over her shoulder at his grave face. "Why try and hide it in that
way?"
"It was jest a passing thought," said Mr. Hoopdriver, airily.
"Didn't MEAN anything, you know."
As they were riding on to Havant it occurred to Mr. Hoopdriver in
a transitory manner that the interview had been quite other than
his expectation. But that was the way with everything in Mr.
Hoopdriver's experience. And though his Wisdom looked grave
within him, and Caution was chinking coins, and an ancient
prejudice in favour of Property shook her head, something else
was there too, shouting in his mind to drown all these saner
considerations, the intoxicating thought of riding beside Her all
to-day, all to-morrow, perhaps for other days after that.
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