“You’re going to do nothing of the kind, father,” said Edala, taking up the challenge. “I’m not going to have my aerial throne blown to blazes at all. Why it’s a curiosity—one of the sights. I bring everybody up here to see it.”
“And to sit on it?” rejoined Elvesdon, mischievously.
“Only that no one ever has, except you. Tell me. What did it feel like, for the first time?”
Her straight, clear glance was full upon his face. He was thinking that ‘the first time’ felt uncommonly like being the last. But he answered:
“Well, I don’t know. It was a queer experience—for the first time. To be absolutely candid I won’t pretend that I completely enjoyed it.”
“I know you didn’t. I could see that your hand on the bough was not quite steady. That makes it all the more a big thing to have done.”
“What did you yourself feel like the first time, Miss Thornhill, and—what on earth put the idea into your head?”
“I felt just as I do now, how glorious it was being suspended in mid-air,”—the listener felt creepy in the calves of the legs, as the words brought back his own feelings. “What put it into my head? I was up here one day with another girl and it occurred to me it would be good fun to go and sit there, overhanging space. She didn’t believe I meant it, but I just climbed out on to the tree and sat there. She nearly fainted.”
“Well, nerve isn’t a monopoly of our sex. Look at the wonderful things women do—diving from a ghastly height into a narrow tank—or looping the loop on a bicycle, and so on. By George! it’s enough to make your hair stand on end to watch them.”
“We’ve missed the sunset,” cried Edala. “Never mind. You can see plenty of sunsets, but you can’t sit on my aerial throne every day. Why, where’s father?” looking around. “Oh, there; over by that flat rock.”