“Oh no, thanks; I could not think of intruding upon you like that,” she answered. “I live just outside Bassingham, and a mere three-mile walk is nothing on a lovely evening like this.”
“Are you sure you are doing what you would prefer?” he urged.
“Quite. Oh, Mr Wagram, how can I thank you enough? Why, but for you I should be in as many pieces as my poor bicycle.”
“And but for you, possibly, so should I,” he laughed.
“Yes; only you would not have been there at all but for me, so that I am still all on the debtor’s side,” she rejoined, flashing up at him a very winning smile.
“Will you favour me with your address—here,” holding out a pocket-book open at a blank leaf. “And—er—you seem to have the advantage of me as to name.”
“Have I? Why, so I have,” (writing). Then handing it back he read:
“Delia Calmour, Siege House, Bassingham.”
“Oh, you live in Bassingham, then?” he said, in a tone which seemed to her to express surprise at never having seen her before.
“Yes; but I have been away for two years,” she answered in implied explanation which was certainly not accidental. “I have only just come home.”