It was plainly time for me to do something, and she decided the point for me by slightly moving away from the wall.  “Some time, when you are riding out from Walford,” she said, “we should be glad to have you stop and take luncheon.  Father likes to have people at luncheon.”

“I should be delighted to do so,” said I; and if she had asked me to delay my journey and take luncheon with them that day I think I should have accepted the invitation.  But she did not do that, and she was not a young lady who would stand too long by a public road talking to a young man.  She smiled very sweetly and held out her hand over the wall.  “Good-bye again,” she said.  As I took her hand I felt very much inclined to press it warmly, but I refrained.  Her grasp was firm and friendly, and I would have liked very much to know whether or not it was more so than was her custom.

I was mounting my wheel when she called to me again.  “Now, I suppose,” she said, “you are going straight on?”

“Oh yes,” I replied, with emphasis, “straight on.”

“And the name of the hotel where you will stay to-night,” said she, “it is the Cheltenham.  I forgot it when I spoke to you before.  I do not believe, really, it is more than three miles beyond the other little place where you thought of stopping.”

Then she walked away from the wall and I mounted.  I moved very slowly onward, and as I turned my head I saw that a row of straggling bushes which grew close to the wall were now between her and me.  But I also saw, or thought I saw, between the leaves and boughs, that her face was towards me, and that she was waving her handkerchief.  If I had been sure of that, I think I should have jumped over the wall, pushed through the bushes, and should have asked her to give me that handkerchief, that I might fasten it on the front of my cap as, in olden days, a knight going forth to his adventures bound upon his helmet the glove of his lady-love.

But I was not sure of it, and, seized by a sudden energetic excitement, I started off at a tremendous rate of speed.  The ground flew backward beneath me as if I had been standing on the platform of a railroad car.  Not far ahead of me there came from a side road into the main avenue on which I was travelling a Scorcher, scorching.  As he spun away in front of me, his body bent forward until his back was nearly horizontal, and his green-stockinged legs striking out behind him with the furious rapidity of a great frog trying to push his head into the mud, he turned back his little face with a leer of triumphant derision at every moving thing which might happen to be behind him.

[Illustration:  “I thought for A few moments”]

At the sight of this green-legged Scorcher my blood rose, and it was with me as if I had heard the clang of trumpets and the clash of arms.  I leaned slightly forward; I struck out powerfully, swiftly, and steadily; I gained upon the Scorcher; I sent into his emerald legs a thrill of startled fear, as if he had been a terrified hare bounding madly away from a pursuing foe, and I passed him as if I had been a swift falcon swooping by a quarry unworthy of his talons.