“I am not offended. Why should I be? I am a girl and—and not very big, am I?” She rose and smiled at him, and held out her hand.
“Thank you,” Hugh said. He took her hand and held it. “I think you are generous.”
“For not being offended by a silly thing like that!” She laughed and turned to get the bicycle. But it had slipped, the handle-bar had become wedged in the railings; it took all Hugh’s strength to persuade the handle-bar to come out.
“I am afraid you can’t ride it like this, the bar’s got twisted. If you have a spanner—”
“I haven’t,” said Ellice.
“Then if you will permit I will wheel it into the village. There’s a cycle shop there, and I’ll fix it up for you.”
So, he wheeling the bicycle, and she beside him, they crossed the green and came to the village street. And down the road came a little grey-painted car, which Johnny Everard was driving with more pride than he had ever experienced before.
“Why, hello!” thought Johnny. “What on earth is Ellice doing here, and who is the fellow she is with? He’s the man I saw at Mrs. Bonner’s gate and—”
He turned his head and glanced at Joan. He was going to say something to her, something about the unexpectedness of seeing Ellice here, but Johnny Everard said nothing. He was startled, for Joan’s face was white, and her lips were compressed. And in Joan’s brain was dinning the question. “He here—what does he do here? Has he come here to torment me further, to pester and plague and annoy me with his speeches that I will never listen to? How dare he come here?”
He had seen her, had paused. He lifted his hand to his hat and raised it, but Joan stared straight before her.