After Cobham, the road became especially beautiful.
About halfway to Ripley, Mr. Hoopdriver rode down a small hill. There were no fences, just moss-covered trees and ferns growing beside the road.
When he looked ahead, he saw open countryside covered with heather and pine trees. A yellow road stretched across the landscape.
Then he noticed something else.
About half a mile away, a small figure in gray stood beside the road, waving something white.
“Never!” Hoopdriver whispered.
He started pedaling again.
He hit a stone, wobbled badly, recovered, and immediately began riding faster.
“It can’t be,” he said.
But the closer he got, the more certain he became.
“Lord! Could it really be?”
His legs were already tired and numb, but he forced himself onward.
“Blow my legs!”
He kept pedaling.
By now he was breathing hard and collecting flies around his face like a piece of flypaper.
For a while, the road dipped into a valley and he lost sight of her.
Then the road rose again.
As he reached the top of the hill, he saw her clearly.
She was less than a hundred yards away.
“It’s her!” he cried. “It really is her!”
Then he suddenly understood.
“It must be the suit that made her notice me.”
The Young Lady in Grey was no longer waving her handkerchief.
In fact, she wasn’t even looking at him.
She was slowly pushing her bicycle along the road, admiring the wooded hills toward Weybridge.
She seemed completely unaware that Hoopdriver was there.
For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether he had imagined the handkerchief.
He was also red-faced, exhausted, and sweating heavily.
But the handkerchief had definitely been there.
Perhaps she had been trying to attract his attention.
Should he ride up to her and then get off?
Or should he get off first and then walk his bicycle toward her?
He certainly couldn’t risk tipping over while trying to lift his cap.
Before he could decide, he was already beside her.
She must have heard his heavy breathing.
Hoopdriver squeezed the brake.
“Steady,” he told himself.
He tried to get off.
His right leg swung awkwardly through the air, and he landed heavily, but at least he remained standing.
The young woman turned and looked at him with genuine surprise.
Hoopdriver tried to smile, hold his bicycle upright, lift his cap, and bow politely.
In his own mind, he believed he had managed all four.
He didn’t notice that his hair was soaked with sweat and badly out of place.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Hoopdriver finally began,
“What can I have the pleasure—”
He stopped.
Remembering that he was supposed to be a gentleman on holiday, he changed his tone.
“I mean, can I be of any assistance to you?”
The Young Lady in Grey bit her lower lip.
“None, thank you.”
She looked away and seemed ready to continue on her way.
“Oh,” Hoopdriver said.
His confidence immediately disappeared.
He couldn’t tell whether she was simply being shy or whether he had misunderstood everything.
“Excuse me, just one moment.”
She stopped.
“Yes?”
She looked at him curiously, and a little color appeared in her cheeks.
“I only got off because I thought you had waved something white.”
He hesitated.
“You know… a handkerchief.”
She looked at him for a moment.
Then she realized what had happened.
He really had seen her waving.
He wasn’t some rude stranger trying to take advantage of a misunderstanding.
He was simply an innocent man who had misunderstood the situation.
“I did wave my handkerchief,” she admitted.
“I’m very sorry.”
She hesitated.
“I’m waiting for a friend. A gentleman.”
Her cheeks became slightly pink.
“He’s riding a bicycle too, and he’s wearing brown. From a distance, I thought you might be him.”
“Oh, quite!” Hoopdriver replied, trying to hide his disappointment.
“Certainly.”
“I really am sorry. I made you get off your bicycle for nothing.”
“No trouble. ’S sure,” Hoopdriver said automatically.
He bowed over his bicycle as though he were standing behind the counter at the shop.
For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that the man she was waiting for was probably somewhere behind them, struggling with a puncture.
He looked back along the road.
He tried desperately to think of something else to say.
But nothing came to him.
“There’s nothing further,” he said at last.
“Nothing, thank you.”
She paused, then asked,
“This is the road to Ripley, isn’t it?”
“Certainly,” Hoopdriver said.
“Ripley is about two miles from here. At least, that’s what the milestones say.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled politely.
“I was sure this was the right road. And I’m really sorry about the misunderstanding.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Really, don’t mention it.”
Hoopdriver gripped the handlebars and prepared to mount.
Then he thought of something he shouldn’t have said.
“It’s me who ought to be sorry.”
He paused.
“Because I’m not the gentleman you were expecting.”
He tried to give her a charming smile.
Unfortunately, even he knew it had come out more like an awkward grin.
He immediately felt that she disapproved of him.
Perhaps she despised him.
Embarrassed, he turned away and tried to mount his bicycle.
The bicycle swerved horribly.
He somehow managed to get moving and pedaled away.
He was painfully aware that he was riding terribly.
Still, he was grateful to be moving.
At least he didn’t have to stand there any longer.
He couldn’t look back because turning his head while riding was still dangerous for him.
But he imagined the young woman staring after him in disgust.
“What an idiot,” he thought.
He should have known better than to talk to a young lady like that.
He had spoken to her as though she were an ordinary girl from the shop.
It was humiliating.
“I’m always a fool,” he muttered.
“You could tell from the way she looked at me that she didn’t think I was a gentleman.”
Her manner of speaking kept coming back to him.
She spoke so clearly and naturally.
Compared with her, his own accent suddenly seemed crude and embarrassing.
And then there was that ridiculous thing he had said.
“Because I’m not the other gentleman.”
What was the point of saying that?
He had even called the other man a gentleman.
What must she think of him now?
Meanwhile, the Young Lady in Grey had almost completely forgotten him.
She hadn’t been offended.
His nervousness and obvious admiration had not bothered her at all.
She had much more important things on her mind.
Things that might affect the rest of her life.
She continued slowly pushing her bicycle back toward London.
After a while, she stopped.
“Oh, why doesn’t he come?” she said impatiently.
She stamped her foot.
Then, as though the road had answered her question, she saw someone coming down the hill through the trees.
It was the other man in brown.
He was walking beside his bicycle.