rten; and it showed very few signs of having been ridden by
beginners with an unconquerable desire to tilt at the hedgerow. So off
I soared at once, heedless of the jeers of Teutonic youth who found the
sight of a lady riding a cycle in skirts a strange one--for in South
Germany the 'rational' costume is so universal among women cyclists that
'tis the skirt that provokes unfavourable comment from those jealous
guardians of female propriety, the street boys. I hurried on at a brisk
pace past the Palm-Garden and the suburbs, with my loose hair straying
on the breeze behind, till I found myself pedalling at a good round pace
on a broad, level road, which led towards a village, by name Fraunheim.

As I scurried across the plain, with the wind in my face, not
unpleasantly, I had some dim consciousness of somebody unknown flying
after me headlong. My first idea was that Harold Tillington had hunted
me down and tracked me to my lair; but gazing back, I saw my pursuer was
a tall and ungainly man, with a straw-coloured moustache, apparently
American, and that he was following me on his machine, closely watching
my action. He had such a cunning expression on his face, and seemed so
strangely inquisitive, with eyes riveted on my treadles, that I didn't
quite like the look of him. I put on the pace, to see if I could
outstrip him, for I am a swift cyclist. But his long legs were too much
for me. He did not gain on me, it is true; but neither did I outpace
him. Pedalling my very hardest--and I can make good time when
necessary--I still kept pretty much at the same distance in front of him
all the way to Fraunheim.

[Illustration: HE KEPT CLOSE AT MY HEELS.]

Gradually I began to feel sure that the weedy-looking man with the alert
face was really pursuing me. When I went faster, he went faster too;
when I gave him a chance to pass me, he kept close at my heels, and
appeared to be keenly watching the style of my ankle-action. I gathered
that he was a connoisseur; but why on earth he should persecute me I
could not imagine. My spirit was roused now-- I pedalled with a will; if
I rode all day I would not let him go past me.

Beyond the cobble-paved chief street of Fraunheim the road took a sharp
bend, and began to mount the slopes of the Taunus suddenly. It was an
abrupt, steep climb; but I flatter myself I am a tolerable mountain
cyclist. I rode sturdily on; my pursuer darted after me. But on this
stiff upward grade my light weight