“I’m early,” she said, “but I had to come. I hardly slept all night for thinking about it.”
He advanced, finding that he very much wanted to take her hand, and she looked up into his face and laughed impishly, for it was plain reading to her that she had startled this young man and unsettled his equilibrium.
“Come in,” he said, rather stupidly. “We’ve been tinkering, but we’re nearly ready now, I guess.” He knew it was hardly the thing to say to such a magical creature, but it was the best he could do.
She walked to the machine and patted the tip of its wing. “We’re going to be friends, aren’t we?” she said to it, and smiled up at Potter again. “How do I get in? Where do I sit?” Her voice was eager.
It had been in his mind before she came to try to persuade her against the flight; to show her the inadvisability of it, especially in the face of her father’s attitude toward him. He did not make the effort now. It seemed futile, not to be considered, so he helped her to her place silently. “Ready?” he asked one of the men in overalls who were going fussily about the ’plane, touching wires, testing braces.
“Ready, sir.”
Potter looked at Hildegarde. No trace of fear or nervousness was visible, nor was she calm. Her eyes danced with excitement, her face was alight with gay eagerness. “I don’t suppose I could drive it, could I?” she asked.
“Well, hardly,” Potter said.
“I’d love to. I’m sure I could.”
“This is your excursion,” he said, disregarding her manifest desire to become pilot of the craft. “What part of the earth shall we fly over?”