The plane touched the earth, ran a little way toward an arched building, and stopped.
Ben jumped out, and Geraldine exclaimed over the beauty of a rose-tinted cloud of blossoms.
"Yes. Pretty orchard, isn't it?" he said. He unstrapped her safety belt and lifted her out of the cockpit. Her eager eyes noted that they were at the back of a large brick dwelling.
"Is Miss Upton here?" she asked while her escort took off her leather coat and her helmet. The latter had been pushed on and off once too often. The wonder of her golden hair fell over the poor little white cotton gown and Ben repressed his gasp of admiration.
"Oh, this is dreadful," she said, putting her hands up helplessly.
"Don't touch it," exclaimed her companion quickly. "You can't do anything with it anyway. There isn't a hairpin in the hangar. Miss Upton will love to see it. She will take care of it."
"Oh, I can't. How can I!" exclaimed Geraldine.
"Certainly, that's all right," said Ben hastily. "Miss Upton is right here. She will take you into the house and make you comfy. Let me put this around you."
He took the crêpe shawl and put it about her shoulders, lifting out the shining gold that fell over the fringes.
"I know it is very old-fashioned and queer," said Geraldine, pulling the wrap over the grass stains and looking up into his eyes with a childlike appeal that made him set his teeth. "It was my mother's and you said 'white.' It was all I had."