dress when she saw the tandem with its largs occupant at the door. He handed her up to her saddle with a more solemn and thoughtful face than was usual with him, and a few moments 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 machine spriig and quiver with every stroke; while the mignon grey figure with the laughing face, and the golden curls blowing from under the little pink-banded straw hat, simply held firmly to her perch, and let the treadles whirl round beneath her feet. Mile after mile they flew, the wind beating in her face, the trees dancing past in two long ranks on either side, until they had passed round Croydon and were approaching Norwood once more from the further side,
“Aren't you tired?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder and turning towards him a little pink car, a fluffy golden curl, and one blue eye twinkling from the very corner of its lid.
“Not a bit. I am just getting my swing."
“Isn’t it wonderful to be strong? You always remind me of a steamengine.”
“Why a steamcngine?”
"Well, because it is so powerful, and reliabie, and unreasoning. Well, I didn’t mean that last, you know, but—but—you know what I mean. What is the matter with you?”
“Why?
