It was Miss Putney.
As she came nearer and nearer I was greatly impressed with her appearance.

Her costume was as suitable and becoming for the occasion as if it had been an evening dress for a ball, and she wheeled better than any woman cyclist I ever saw.

Her head was erect, her eyes straight before her, and her motion was rhythm of action.
With my hand on my wheel I moved a few steps towards the middle of the road.

I was about to take off my cap when she turned her eyes upon me.
She even moved her head a little so as to gaze upon me a few seconds longer.

Her face was quiet and serene, her eyes were large, clear, and observant.