“Eh? Oh, nothing.” He looked at me with that familiar sudden suspiciousness which seemed to accuse one of attemped espionage into the secrets of his soul. I remembered that even in the mess, intimate as we had all been together, he had always been a queer chap. One had never really known what he was thinking or planning. He turned now to Sylvia.
“Miss Bryant has promised me that one day she will let me take her for a flight,” he said, banishing the hardness of his eyes with that little smile of his which was so peculiarly attractive when he chose to exert his charm.
“I’ll come tomorrow,” she replied promptly. “And then you’ll have to take me gratis.”
“Of course I will!” he answered, clutching at her promise with a flash of eager delight in his eyes. “You didn’t imagine I was going to charge you for it, did you? That’s settled, then.”
Mrs. Bryant interposed in motherly alarm.
“Oh, Sylvia! Don’t do any of your madcap tricks!—You will be careful, wont you, Mr. Selwyn?” She turned to me. “Are you sure she will be safe with him, Jimmy?”
“My dear Mrs. Bryant,” I assured her, “if there is a better pilot in the world than Toby, I don’t know him.”
Mr. Bryant took the pipe from his mouth and glanced cautiously at his wife.
“I’d rather like to go up too,” he said.
But Mrs. Bryant vetoed this volubly and emphatically.