XV. AN INTERLUDE

And now let us for a space leave Mr. Hoopdriver in the dusky Midhurst

North Street, and return to the two folks beside the railway bridge

between Milford and Haslemere. She was a girl of eighteen, dark,

fine featured, with bright eyes, and a rich, swift colour under her

warm-tinted skin. Her eyes were all the brighter for the tears that swam

in them. The man was thirty three or four, fair, with a longish nose

overhanging his sandy flaxen moustache, pale blue eyes, and a head that

struck out above and behind. He stood with his feet wide apart, his hand

on his hip, in an attitude that was equally suggestive of defiance and

aggression. They had watched Hoopdriver out of sight. The unexpected

interruption had stopped the flood of her tears. He tugged his abundant

moustache and regarded her calmly. She stood with face averted,

obstinately resolved not to speak first. "Your behaviour," he said at

last, "makes you conspicuous."

She turned upon him, her eyes and cheeks glowing, her hands clenched.

You unspeakable CAD," she said, and choked, stamped her little foot,

and stood panting.

Unspeakable cad! My dear girl! Possible I AM an unspeakable cad. Who

wouldn't be--for you?"

"'Dear girl!' How DARE you speak to me like that? YOU--"

The Wheels of Chance