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. Of
talking to her familiarly, being brother of all her slender
strength and freshness, of having a golden, real, and wonderful
time beyond all his imaginings. His old familiar fancyings gave
place to anticipations as impalpable and fluctuating and
beautiful as the sunset of a summer day.

At Havant he took an opportunity to purchase, at small
hairdresser's in the main street, a toothbrush,pair of nail
scissors, and a little bottle of stuff to darken the moustache,
an article the shopman introduced to his attention, recommended
highly, and sold in the excitement of the occasion.