"I've been longing for it," he confessed, eagerly. "But I'd decided that you were through with me, on account of my actions that night you got your plane—when I sneaked over to see it. One of the boys heard it roaring over our heads, and ran out to see where it was landing. So, when he came back with the news that it was in your field, I knew it must be yours. When I went over to see it myself—I—I was hoping you'd come out alone—and we could gloat over it together! And then all that crowd showed up, and your aunt too—I was sure it was she—and I just lost my nerve and ran. It looked pretty queer, I guess."
"No, only why didn't you come to the house first?" she inquired.
"I was afraid the butler would say, 'Miss Carlton is not at home'—the way the rich young ladies' butlers always do in the novels."
"Only we haven't any butler," laughed Linda.
"Well, you have a strict aunt—and a father that's made of steel!"
"Don't!" cried the girl, in an offended tone. "You mustn't say a word against my father, or I never will talk to you. But that brings me to what I wanted to say.... My father has no time for you, on account of your father. It seems that a man by the same name worked for him on the ranch in Texas—and was untrustworthy. Could that have been your father?"
"I'm afraid it was," admitted Ted, sadly.
"So you see why he selected Mr. Taylor to teach me to fly...." Tears almost came into her eyes, as she saw how sorrowful Ted was looking. "I think it's absurd, myself," she admitted. "But I suppose Daddy means it for the best.... I'm—not to be friends with you, Ted.... And, oh, I'm so sorry!"
"I'm sorry too, Linda," the boy said slowly. "But somehow I never believed we could be real friends. I'm not like you—I don't believe in fairy stories."
"What do you mean?"