It was just three days after the Doctor and theAdmiral had congratulated each other upon the closer tiewhich was to unite their two families, and to turn theirfriendship into something even dearer and more intimate,that Miss Ida Walker received a letter which caused hersome surprise and considerable amusement. It was datedfrom next door, and was handed in by the red-headed pageafter breakfast.

"Dear Miss Ida," began this curious document, andthen relapsed suddenly into the third person. "Mr. Charles Westmacott hopes that he may have the extremepleasure of a ride with Miss Ida Walker upon his tandemtricycle. Mr. Charles Westmacott will bring it round inhalf an hour. You in front. Yours very truly, CharlesWestmacott." The whole was written in a large,loose-jointed, and school-boyish hand, very thin on theup strokes and thick on the down, as though care andpains had gone to the fashioning of it.

Strange as was the form, the meaning was clearenough; so Ida hastened to her room, and had hardlyslipped on her light grey cycling dress when shesaw the tandem with its large occupant at the door. Hehanded her up to her saddle with a more solemn andthoughtful face than was usual with him, and a fewmoments later they were flying along the beautiful,smooth suburban roads in the direction of Forest Hill. The great limbs of the athlete made the heavy machinespring and quiver with every stroke; while the mignongrey figure with the laughing face, and the golden curlsblowing from under the little pink-banded straw hat,simply held firmly to her perch, and let the treadleswhirl round beneath her feet. Mile after mile they flew,the wind beating in her face, the trees dancing past intwo long ranks on either side, until they had passedround Croydon and were approaching Norwood once more fromthe further side.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked, glancing over hershoulder and turning towards him a little pink ear, afluffy golden curl, and one blue eye twinkling from thevery corner of its lid.

"Not a bit. I am just getting my swing."

"Isn't it wonderful to be strong? You always remindme of a steamengine."

"Why a steamengine?"

"Well, because it is so powerful, and reliable, andunreasoning. Well, I didn't mean that last, you know,but--but--you know what I mean. What is the matter withyou?"

"Why?"

"Because you have something on your mind. You havenot laughed once."

He broke into a gruesome laugh. "I am quite jolly,"said he.

"Oh, no, you are not. And why did you write me sucha dreadfully stiff letter?"

"There now," he cried, "I was sure it was stiff. Isaid it was absurdly stiff."

"Then why write it?"

"It wasn't my own composition."

"Whose then? Your aunt's?"

"Oh, no. It was a person of the name of Slattery."

"Goodness! Who is he?"

"I knew it would come out, I felt that it would. You've heard of Slattery the author?"

"Never."

"He is wonderful at expressing himself. He wrote abook called `The Secret Solved; or, Letter-writing MadeEasy.' It gives you models of all sorts of letters."

Ida burst out laughing. "So you actually copiedone."

"It was to invite a young lady to a picnic, but I setto work and soon got it changed so that it would do verywell. Slattery seems never to have asked any one to ridea tandem. But when I had written it, it seemed sodreadfully stiff that I had to put a little beginning andend of my own, which seemed to brighten it up a gooddeal."

"I thought there was something funny about thebeginning and end."

"Did you? Fancy your noticing the difference instyle. How quick you are! I am very slow at things likethat. I ought to have been a woodman, or game-keeper, orsomething. I was made on those lines. But I have foundsomething now."

"What is that, then?"

"Ranching. I have a chum in Texas, and he says it isa rare life. I am to buy a share in his business. It isall in the open air--shooting, and riding, and sport. Would it--would it inconvenience you much, Ida, to comeout there with me?"

Ida nearly fell off her perch in her amazement. Theonly words of which she could think were "My goodnessme!" so she said them.

"If it would not upset your plans, or change yourarrangements in any way." He had slowed down and let goof the steering handle, so that the great machine crawledaimlessly about from one side of the road to the other. "I know very well that I am not clever or anything ofthat sort, but still I would do all I can to make youvery happy. Don't you think that in time you might cometo like me a little bit?"

Ida gave a cry of fright. "I won't like you if yourun me against a brick wall," she said, as the machinerasped up against the curb "Do attend to the steering."

"Yes, I will. But tell me, Ida, whether you willcome with me."

"Oh, I don't know. It's too absurd! How can we talkabout such things when I cannot see you? You speak tothe nape of my neck, and then I have to twist my headround to answer."

"I know. That was why I put `You in front' upon myletter. I thought that it would make it easier. But ifyou would prefer it I will stop the machine, and then youcan sit round and talk about it."

"Good gracious!" cried Ida. "Fancy our sitting faceto face on a motionless tricycle in the middle of theroad, and all the people looking out of their windows atus!"

"It would look rather funny, wouldn't it? Well,then, suppose that we both get off and push the tandemalong in front of us?"

"Oh, no, this is better than that."

"Or I could carry the thing."

Ida burst out laughing. "That would be more absurdstill."

"Then we will go quietly, and I will look out for thesteering. I won't talk about it at all if you wouldrather not. But I really do love you very much, and youwould make me happy if you came to Texas with me, and Ithink that perhaps after a time I could make you happytoo."

"But your aunt?"

"Oh, she would like it very much. I can understandthat your father might not like to lose you. I'm sure Iwouldn't either, if I were he. But after all, America isnot very far off nowadays, and is not so very wild. Wewould take a grand piano, and--and--a copy of Browning. And Denver and his wife would come over to see us. Weshould be quite a family party. It would be jolly."

Ida sat listening to the stumbling words and awkwardphrases which were whispered from the back of her, butthere was something in Charles Westmacott's clumsiness ofspeech which was more moving than the words of the mosteloquent of pleaders. He paused, he stammered, he caughthis breath between the words, and he blurted out inlittle blunt phrases all the hopes of his heart. If lovehad not come to her yet, there was at least pity andsympathy, which are nearly akin to it. Wonder there wasalso that one so weak and frail as she should shake thisstrong man so, should have the whole course of his lifewaiting for her decision. Her left hand was on thecushion at her side. He leaned forward and took itgently in his own. She did not try to draw it backfrom him.

"May I have it," said he, "for life?"

"Oh, do attend to your steering," said she, smilinground at him; "and don't say any more about this to-day. Please don't!"

"When shall I know, then?"

"Oh, to-night, to-morrow, I don't know. I must askClara. Talk about something else."

And they did talk about something else; but her lefthand was still enclosed in his, and he knew, withoutasking again, that all was well.