Ray Bennett chuckled.
“This is all part of a conspiracy to keep me from getting a motor-bicycle. Father thinks I’ll kill somebody, and Ella thinks I’ll kill myself.”
Perhaps there was something in Dick Gordon’s quick smile that warned the girl that she had been premature in her appraisement of his age, for suddenly, almost abruptly, she nodded an emphatic dismissal and turned away. Dick was at the gate when a further respite arrived. It was the man he had passed on the road. Tall, loose-framed, grey and gaunt of face, he regarded the stranger with suspicion in his deep-set eyes.
“Good morning,” he said curtly. “Car broken down?”
“No, thank you. I ran out of water, and Miss—er——”
“Bennett,” said the man. “She gave you the water, eh? Well, good morning.”
He stood aside to let Gordon pass, but Dick opened the gate and waited till the owner of Maytree Cottage had entered.
“My name is Gordon,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ella had turned back and stood with her brother within earshot. “I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness.”
The old man, with a nod, went on carrying his heavy burden into the house, and Dick in desperation turned to the girl.
“You are wrong when you think this is a difficult car to drive—won’t you experiment? Or perhaps your brother?”