When I was positively certain that I had left the little inn far
behind me, I slackened my speed, and, perceiving a spreading tree by
the road-side, I dismounted and sat down in the shade. It was a hot
day, and unconsciously I had been working very hard. Several persons
on wheels passed along the road, and every time I saw one approaching
I was afraid that it might be somebody I knew, who might stop and sit
by me in the shade. I was now near enough to Walford to meet with
people from that neighborhood, and I did not want to meet with any one
just now. I had a great many things to think about and just then I was
busy trying to make up my mind whether or not it would be well for me
to stop at the Putneys'.
If I should pass without stopping, some one in the lodge would
probably see me, and the family would know of my discourtesy, but,
although it would have been a very simple thing to do, and a very
proper thing, I did not feel sure that I wanted to stop. If Edith
Larramie had never said anything about it, I think I would surely have
made a morning call upon the Putneys.
After I had cooled off a little I rose to remount; I had not decided
anything, but it was of no use to sit there any longer. Glancing along
the road towards Walford, I saw in the distance some one approaching
on a wheel. Involuntarily I stood still and watched the on-coming
cyclist, who I saw was a woman. She moved steadily and rapidly on the
other side of the road. Very soon I recognized her. It was Miss
Putney.
As she came nearer and nearer I was greatly impressed with her
appearance. Her costume was as suitable and becoming for the occasion
as if it had been an evening dress for a ball, and she wheeled better
than any woman cyclist I ever saw. Her head was erect, her eyes
straight before her, and her motion was rhythm of action.
With my hand on my wheel I moved a few steps towards the middle of the
road. I was about to take off my cap when she turned her eyes upon me.
She even moved her head a little so as to gaze upon me a few seconds
longer. Her face was quiet and serene, her eyes were large, clear, and
observant. In them was not one gleam of recognition. Turning them
again upon the road in front of her, she sped on and away.
For some minutes I stood looking after her, utterly astonished. I do
not think in all my life I had ever been cut like that. What did it
mean? Could she care enough about me to resent my stopping at the
Holly Sprig? Was it possible that she could have known what had been
likely to happen there, and what had happened there? All this was very
improbable, but in Cathay people seemed to know a great many things.
Anyway, she had solved my problem for me. I need give no further
thought to a stop at her father's mansion.