“Mind!” she exclaimed indignantly. “Do you suppose I mind, when if you weren’t going I should go by myself?”
He bit his lip, but pressed his point.
“Then come along,” he said, “and leave that wretched boy to follow. He has to get food and dry clothes, and will be an hour at least.”
“There’s no hurry,” said Claudia coolly. “If you want to overtake the others—go. We’ll come after.”
“You are cruel,” he said in a low voice. To this she made no reply, determined to ignore such speeches, but she could not help perceiving that her insistence annoyed him very much, or that he had scarcely recovered himself when they set off. The day was full of the rich strong beauty of late summer, freshened by recent rain which had washed the dusty hedges green again; the clouds were no longer grey and uniform, but broken into great precipitous masses, dazzlingly white in part, and here and there fading softly into blue. Their way at first ran along a road high on a hill, and commanding exquisite views of the country round. But Claudia, in spite of self-scolding, could not call back the fresh and delightful enjoyment of that other day when they had come to Huntingdon. She was on the watch, at times on the defensive, despising herself that it should be so, but heartily wishing that the ride was over. Nor could she utilise Charlie Carter as much as she would have liked, for he was one of a large family, with a profound contempt for all girls except his own sisters, and a yet more profound admiration for Captain Fenwick. He was therefore gruff, and disregardful of Claudia, sidling out of her way, and ready to please his hero by acting as scout and rushing along side lanes in search of short cuts. At such times Claudia made desperate attempts to push on, but there is a limit to this means of escape even on a bicycle, and when hills came, she was obliged to walk up them. Perhaps Fenwick noted the disturbance, and perhaps he preferred it to her former indifference, for now and then a smile crossed his face which it would have enraged her to see. He asked her suddenly whether she liked Huntingdon better than Thornbury. This was safe ground, and she breathed freely.
“I have a bigger opening there,” she said. “Thornbury was already beautiful, and Huntingdon has to be made so. It’s very interesting.”
“You have said so little about it lately that I had fears.”
“Women go into extremes, you know,” returned Claudia, dimpling, and quoting his own words.
“Yes, but you are not like other women. You have independence and originality.” As Claudia struggled breathlessly against the hill, he added in a vexed tone, “Why on earth must you be in such a hurry?”
“You were in a hurry yourself just now.” But she was obliged to get off, and all she could do was to walk with the bicycle between them.