The first thing we did when we were in the taxicab was to introduce ourselves to each other. I told him that I was Marguerite O'Malley, but that, as I wasn't a bit like a marguerite or even a common or garden daisy, I'd degenerated into Peggy. I didn't drag in anything about my family tree; it seemed unnecessary. He told me that he was Eagleston March, but that he had degenerated into "Eagle." I thought this nickname suited his aquiline nose, his brilliant eyes, and that eager, alert look he had of being alive in every nerve and fibre. He told me, too, that he was a captain in the American army, over in England for the first time on leave; but before he got so far, I knew very well who he was, for I'd read about him days ago in Father's Times.
"Why, you're the first American who's looped the loop at Hendon!" I cried out. "You invented some stability thing or other to put on a monoplane."
He laughed. "Some stability thing or other's a neat description. But you're right. I'm the American fellow that the loop has looped."
"Now I know," said I, "why you're not at the Derby to-day. Horses at their fastest must seem slow to a flying man."
"This time you're not right," he corrected me. "I'm not at the Derby because it isn't much fun seeing a race when you don't know anything about the horses, and haven't a pal to go with."
"But you must have lots of pals," I thought out aloud. "Every one adores the airmen."
"Do they? I haven't noticed it."
"Then you can't be conceited. Perhaps American men aren't. I never knew one before, except in business."
"Good heavens! So you really are a business woman, as well as a linguist, apparently. At what age did you begin?"
"What age do you take me for now?" I hedged.