against his bitter disappointment. "Certainly."

"I'm awfully sorry, you know. Troubling you to dismount, and all
that."

"No trouble. 'Ssure you," said Mr. Hoopdriver, mechanically and
bowing over his saddle as if it was a counter. Somehow he could
not find it in his heart to tell her that the man was beyond
there with a punctured pneumatic. He looked back along the road
and tried to think of something else to say. But the gulf in the
conversation widened rapidly and hopelessly. "There's nothing
further," began Mr. Hoopdriver desperately, recurring to his
stock of cliches.

"Nothing, thank you," she said decisively. And immediately, "This
IS the Ripley road?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Ripley is about two miles from
here. According to the mile-stones."

"Thank you," she said warmly. "Thank you so much. I felt sure
there was no mistake. And I really am awfully sorry--"

"Don't mention it," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "Don't mention it." He
hesitated and gripped his handles to mount. "It's me," he said,
"ought to be sorry." Should he say it? Was it an impertinence?
Anyhow!--"Not being the other gentleman, you know."

He tried a quietly insinuating smile that he knew for a grin even
as he smiled it; felt she disapproved--that she despised him, was