Tiddy was quite sure of it. A mere male cannot hazard a conjecture as to the reasons which bring instant conviction to the female intelligence. Perhaps she recognized the dark, disconcerting eyes burning out of a thin, pale face; perhaps she saw a doctor’s service-bag strapped behind the bicycle.
“Tyre stuck,” said Tiddy. “Can you tell me if there is anybody in Upworthy who could get it off?”
“I can,” he answered.
She protested, but he went to work promptly, removing his coat and throwing his cap upon it. At this, any doubt as to his identity vanished. Cicely had laid emphasis upon Grimshaw’s eagerness in ministration. According to Cicely, his knightly quality was conspicuous. Cicely, so Tiddy remembered, had used the word “halo,” which had provoked a gibe from Miss Tiddle. At this moment she actually beheld the halo. A vainer girl might have flattered herself into the belief that bright eyes and curls were quickening these activities. But Grimshaw had not looked keenly at her, but at the bicycle. She knew that he would have helped the plainest maid in the village with equal alacrity.
“He’s a rare good sort,” she decided, “but he looks horribly ill, and why is he here instead of in France?”
To ask herself questions when another could answer them was not Miss Tiddle’s failing. The situation began to interest her. She said casually:
“I thought you were in France, Mr. Grimshaw.”
Grimshaw looked up. She had no reason to complain of lack of penetration in his glance. And his next words confirmed her first impression that he was quite out of the ordinary. Wilverley, for instance, would have looked puzzled, taking for granted he had met this sparkling stranger before and forgotten her. Grimshaw said sharply:
“You know me, but I have never met you; never.”
She laughed, a delightful tinkle of sound which brought a smile to his lips.