Without a word he wheeled out the bicycle and they rolled away.
She was very close, there before him. She bent over the handle bars like an old-timer, and pedalled with something more than the abandon of a boy. It was going to be hard to talk to her... If he could only blot this day out of his life. 'She started it,' he thought fiercely, staring out ahead over her rhythmically moving shoulder. 'I never asked her to come in!'
'I didn't know you rode a wheel,' said he, after a time, dismally.
'I ride Sundays with the boys from Pennyweather Point. But you needn't tell that at home.'
'I'm not telling anything at home,' muttered Henry. Then she flung back at him the one word.
'Surprised?'
'Well—why, sorta.'
'You thought I was satisfied to do the room work and wash dishes, I suppose!'
'I don't know as I thought anything.'
'What's the matter, anyway? Scared at my bloomers?'