Presently the young American girl began to realize what it was that was new and special about "this flyer."
It was symbolized in the little gold stripe on the cuff of his flying-jacket. He was the very first fighting flyer who had crossed her path. The first she'd met who had already given battle to men in the air, the first she'd known who had been shot down in fighting for the cause which was now her country's too.
Never before had she seen a man who had actually used her country's invention of flying as the instrument of battle.
She, with her whole country, had wished to use this invention as a beneficent gift.
Her country had seen that before this gift could be so used, stern work lay before the men of the air. She saw it, too.... As that War-missioner had said. Her country was looking with other eyes upon her Allies.
For Golden these new friends were typified in the young Briton who wore the wound stripe as well as the wings.
She told herself wonderingly, "Now isn't it queer that I should ever come to like one of the English so well. This Bird-boy is quite nice enough to be an American...."
Neither of the young people remembered afterwards at what exact moment of that second day she had called him "Bird-boy." Though he took it with a hidden lift of the heart, he did not use any name at all to her until the third day.
On the morning of that day she announced to him that it would be her last day at Les Pins.
"What? Going?" he cried aghast, as if the idea that she must one day go had never occurred to him.