Paul was surprised at her vehemence, and he came to a sudden resolution. "Do you know," he said, "I'm going to take a last bike ride to-morrow round Hursley Woods and Allington, just to say good-bye. I meant to go alone, but do you think you could come too? I'd love it. We'd be able to talk, up there in the heather. Will you?"
The girl slowed down still more; they were very near her home. She was so glad that he had asked her that she could hardly speak. "Yes," she said; and then, with a burst of confidence: "Do you think we ought to?"
"Why not?" he queried, frowning. "Well, we'll risk it anyway. Look here, let's meet at the bottom of Coster Lane—say at eleven. Shall we? That will give us two hours, lots of time."
She nodded without speaking, and put her hand on the latch.
"You won't be late—Edith," he said, calling her, on the impulse, by her Christian name.
She flushed in the kindly dark. "No," she said softly. How could she? she asked herself as she let herself in.
It was half-past ten when Paul climbed the steps of his father's house and rang the bell. The little family had finished supper and were waiting prayers for him. "Where have you been, Paul?" questioned his mother. "It's very late, dear."
"I saw Miss Thornton home, mother," said Paul.
"Oh, Paul! Was no one else going her way?"
"I did not think to ask," replied Paul frankly.