After a soul-chastening delay he heard Cynthia’s voice:
“That you, Mr. Fitzroy?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so glad I caught you before you hurried away again.... Er—that is—I suppose you traveled rather fast, you and Mercury?”
He laughed. That was all. He did not intend to let her assume so readily that he had missed the first thought which bubbled forth in words. She well knew that he was not in Hereford from personal choice, but she had not meant to tell him that she knew.
“What are you sniggering at?” she demanded imperiously.
“Only at your divination,” he answered. “Indeed, if a tire had not given out soon after I left Whitchurch I would now be well on my way to the Yat.”
Suddenly he recollected the singular outcome of the incident. There was some reasonable probability that it might exercise a material effect on the course of events during the next few days.
So, after a little pause, he added: “That is one reason; there are others.”
“Is something detaining you, then?” she asked.