“To the fair, I suppose.”
“At this hour; after nine o’clock?”
“S-s-h. He’s coming back.”
She drew closer. There was an air of mystery in this nocturnal bicycle ride that induced bewilderment. Martin’s right hand still inclosed the girl’s. What more natural than that his left arm should go around her waist, merely to emphasize the need for caution, concealment, secrecy? Most certainly his knowledge of womankind was striding onward in seven-leagued boots.
The trot of a horse sounded sharply on the hard road. It was being ridden by someone in a hurry. The young scion of the Hall, who appeared to be killing time, inclined his machine to the opposite hedge.
But the rider pulled up with the skill of a practiced horseman. Even in the dim light the boy and girl recognized one of Mr. Beckett-Smythe’s grooms.
“Is that you, Master Frank?” they heard him say.
“Hello, Williams! What’s up?”
“What’s up, indeed! T’ Squire has missed ye. A bonny row there’ll be. Ye mun skip back lively, let me tell ye.”