should be a little behind time, pray begin breakfast without me; I shall feel less hurried, if you will.’
‘All right, we will then; take care of yourself,’ said Mrs Whyte.
Lesbia ran upstairs again to deposit her flowers, then led out her machine; and Mrs Whyte watched her mount and rapidly disappear out of sight along the Stratton road.
Nine o’clock came, and, as Mrs Whyte had promised, she and her husband sat down to breakfast. It was more than half-past before Lesbia opened the door with the newspaper packet in her hand, looking more tired than a mere scurry would have made her, with her clothes all dusty and somewhat torn on one side, and the same side of her forehead bruised and badly scratched.
‘Hallo, you’ve been down!’ exclaimed Mr Whyte. ‘Hope you're not much hurt?’
‘Nothing to signify, thanks, Mr Whyte, only a little shaken, and a trifling headache. It was a bit of carelessness; I turned my head to listen to something I couldn’t make out and don’t understand now, and I rode right on to a big piece of brick and went a cropper over the handles. It was my own fault; bicyclists should have their eyes about them.’
‘Whereabouts did it happen?’ he inquired.
‘On my way back, not a mile from here. I didn’t feel up to mounting again, so I led my bike the rest of the way, and made it do crutch to support me as I crawled by its side. That is why I am so late: I should have been here twenty minutes ago.’
‘Did anyone see you fall?’ asked Mrs Whyte.
‘Yes, a small boy carrying a bundle, who holloaed out,—‘'Ulloa, guv’nor! ’s that as ’ow yer stops yer express?’’
‘Well, tell me now,’ said Mr White, ‘what was it you were listening to so intently as not to see the stone?’
