"Money," said Jessie. "Is it possible— Surely! Conventionality! May only people of means—Live their own Lives? I never thought . . ."
Pause.
"Here's some more cyclists coming," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
The two men were both busy with their bicycle still, but now from among the trees emerged the massive bulk of a 'Marlborough Club' tandem, ridden by a slender woman in grey and a burly man in a Norfolk jacket. Following close upon this came a lank black figure in a piebald straw hat, riding a tricycle of antiquated pattern with two large wheels in front. The man in grey remained bowed over the bicycle, with his stomach resting on the saddle, but his companion stood up and addressed some remark to the tricycle riders. Then it seemed as if he pointed up hill to where Mr. Hoopdriver and his companion stood side by side. A still odder thing followed; the lady in grey took out her handkerchief, appeared to wave it for a moment, and then at a hasty motion from her companion the white signal vanished.
"Surely," said Jessie, peering under her hand. "It's never—"
The tandem tricycle began to ascend the hill, quartering elaborately from side to side to ease the ascent.
