Putney, and Hare said it had had several owners. Second-hand was
scarcely the word for it, and Elare was mildly puzzled that he
should be selling such an antiquity. He said it was perfectly
sound, if a little old-fashioned, but he was absolutely silent
about its moral character. It may even have begun its career with
a poet, say, in his glorious youth. It may have been the bicycle
of a Really Bad Man. No one who has ever ridden a cycle of any
kind but will witness that the things are unaccountably prone to
pick up bad habits--and keep them.

It is undeniable that it became convulsed with the most violent
emotions directly the Young Lady in Grey appeared. It began an
absolutely unprecedented Wabble--unprecedented so far as
Hoopdriver's experience went. It "showed off"--the most decadent
sinuosity. It left a track like one of Beardsley's feathers. He
suddenly realised, too, that his cap was loose on his head and
his breath a mere remnant.

The Young Lady in Grey was also riding a bicycle. She was dressed
in a beautiful bluish-gray, and the sun behind her drew her
outline in gold and left the rest in shadow. Hoopdriver was dimly
aware that she was young, rather slender, dark, and with a bright
colour and bright eyes. Strange doubts possessed him as to the
nature of her nether costume. He had heard of such things of
course. French, perhaps. Her handles glittered; a jet of sunlight
splashed off her bell blindingly. She was approaching the high
road along an affluent from the villas of Surbiton. fee roads
converged slantingly. She was travelling at about the same pace
as Mr. Hoopdriver. The appearances pointed to a meeting at the
fork of the roads.