“I thought there was something funny about the beginning and end.”

“Did you?  Fancy your noticing the difference in style.  How quick you are!  I am very slow at things like that.  I ought to have been a woodman, or game-keeper, or something.  I was made on those lines.  But I have found something now.”

“What is that, then?”

“Ranching.  I have a chum in Texas, and he says it is a rare life.  I am to buy a share in his business.  It is all in the open air—­shooting, and riding, and sport.  Would it—­would it inconvenience you much, Ida, to come out there with me?”

Ida nearly fell off her perch in her amazement.  The only words of which she could think were “My goodness me!” so she said them.

“If it would not upset your plans, or change your arrangements in any way.”  He had slowed down and let go of the steering handle, so that the great machine crawled aimlessly about from one side of the road to the other.  “I know very well that I am not clever or anything of that sort, but still I would do all I can to make you very happy.  Don’t you think that in time you might come to like me a little bit?”

Ida gave a cry of fright.  “I won’t like you if you run me against a brick wall,” she said, as the machine rasped up against the curb “Do attend to the steering.”

“Yes, I will.  But tell me, Ida, whether you will come with me.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  It’s too absurd!  How can we talk about such things when I cannot see you?  You speak to the nape of my neck, and then I have to twist my head round to answer.”

“I know.  That was why I put `You in front’ upon my letter.  I thought that it would make it easier.  But if you would prefer it I will stop the machine, and then you can sit round and talk about it.”

“Good gracious!” cried Ida.  “Fancy our sitting face to face on a motionless tricycle in the middle of the road, and all the people looking out of their windows at us!”

“It would look rather funny, wouldn’t it?  Well, then, suppose that we both get off and push the tandem along in front of us?”

“Oh, no, this is better than that.”

“Or I could carry the thing.”

Ida burst out laughing.  “That would be more absurd still.”

“Then we will go quietly, and I will look out for the steering.  I won’t talk about it at all if you would rather not.  But I really do love you very much, and you would make me happy if you came to Texas with me, and I think that perhaps after a time I could make you happy too.”

“But your aunt?”

“Oh, she would like it very much.  I can understand that your father might not like to lose you.  I’m sure I wouldn’t either, if I were he.  But after all, America is not very far off nowadays, and is not so very wild.  We would take a grand piano, and—­and—­a copy of Browning.  And Denver and his wife would come over to see us.  We should be quite a family party.  It would be jolly.”