a bicycle
for what you want," Bland told him, and turned to Sylvia. "We'll be
delayed for an hour or so, but he can leave word for Miss West, and
there's an inn not far off where they'll give us tea while we're
waiting."

They reached it after turning into another road, though the car made
alarming noises during the journey. Sylvia viewed the old building
with appreciation. It stood, long and low and cleanly white-washed, on
the brink of a deep ghyll filled with lichened boulders and russet
ferns, with a firwood close behind it, and in front a wide vista of
moors and fells that stood out darkly blue against the evening light.
Near the stone porch, a rustic table stood beside a row of tall red
hollyhocks.

"It's a charming spot," Sylvia exclaimed. "Can't we have tea outside?"

Bland ordered it and they sat down to a neatly-served meal. The
evening was warm and very still and clear. A rattle of wheels reached
them from somewhere far down the road and they could hear the faint
splash of water in the depths of the ravine.

"This is really delightful," murmured Sylvia, when the table had been
cleared. "I like the quietness of the country when it comes as a
contrast, after, for example, such an afternoon as we have spent."

"Then you're not sorry you came?"

"Sorry? You wouldn't suggest it, if you knew how dull my days often
are. But I mustn't be doleful. You may smoke, if you like."

Bland did not particularly wish to smoke, but he lighted a cigarette.
It seemed to banish formality, to place them on more familiar terms.

"What is the matter with the car?" Sylvia asked.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. It can't be got along without something
the man has gone back for."

"They do stop sometimes. Is this one in the habit of doing so?"

"I can't say, as it isn't mine. Why do you ask?"

"Oh!" said Sylvia, "I had my suspicions. The man didn't seem in the
least astonished or annoyed, for one thing. Then it broke down in such
a convenient place."

Bland laughed; her boldness appealed to him.

"Well," he declared, "I'm perfectly innocent; though I can't pretend
I'm sorry."

"You felt you had to say that."

"No," he declared, with a direct glance; "I meant it."

Sylvia leaned back in her chair and glanced appreciatively at the moor.

"After all," she said, "it's remarkably pretty here, and a change is
nice. I'll confess that I find Susan's friends a little boring."

The implication was that she pr