"You—on a bicycle?" she gasped; for Mr. Walkingshaw had been born long before bicycles.
"Yes; I've had a couple of lessons—only two, and I went for a six-mile ride all alone to-day!"
"Then weren't you at the office?"
"In the morning; but one gets no exercise in that beastly office. I need a lot nowadays."
He threw himself into a chair and a smile broke over his face, in which, to her further bewilderment, she recognized an unmistakable flavor of roguishness.
"Thinking of him?" he inquired.
Poor Jean nearly jumped out of her chair.
"Of—of whom?" she gasped.
"The artist fellow, what's his name—Vernon."