"I will do anything," said Hoopdriver.

She thought. "You cannot imagine my stepmother. No! I could not
describe her--"

"I am entirely at your service. I will help you with all my
power."

"I have lost an Illusion and found a Knight-errant." She spoke of
Bechamel as the Illusion.

Mr. Hoopdriver felt flattered. But he had no adequate answer.

"I'm thinking," he said, full of a rapture of protective
responsibility, " what we had best be doing. You are tired, you
know. And we can't wander all night--after the day we've had."

"That was Chichester we were near?" she asked.

"If," he meditated, with a tremble in his voice, "you would make
ME your brother, MISS BEAUMONT."

"Yes?"

"We could stop there together--"

She took a minute to answer. "I am going to light these lamps,"
said Hoopdriver. He bent down to his own, and struck a match on
his shoe. She looked at his face in its light, grave and intent.
How could she ever have thought him common or absurd?