Fortune,
however, was against him, for they had begun clipping those northern
hedgerows, and an ominous bumping upon a perfectly flat road led to the
discovery of a puncture a long mile from Normanthorpe. Thence onward the
unhappy cyclist had to choose between running beside his machine and
riding on the rims, and between the two expedients arrived at last both
very hot and rather late. But he thought he must be very late; for he
neither met, followed, nor was followed by any vehicle whatsoever in the
drive; and the door did not open before Langholm rang, as it does when
they are still waiting for one. Then the house seemed strangely silent
when the door did open, and the footman wore a curious expression as he
ushered the late comer into an empty drawing-room. Langholm was now
almost convinced that he had made some absurd mistake, and the
impression was not removed by the entry of Steel with his napkin in one
hand.
"I've mistaken the night!" exclaimed the perspiring author.
"Not a bit of it," replied Steel; "only we thought you weren't coming at
all."
"Am I really so late as all that?"
And Langholm began to wish he had mistaken the night.
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