Mrs. Westfield hesitated between a gasp and a smile.
"I don't doubt it. You are quite capable of anything—only your wings will not be sent from Heaven—"
"No—from Paris. I'm going to have a Bleriot."
"Do you actually mean that you're going to—O Hermia! Not fly—!"
The girl nodded.
"I—I'm afraid I am, Auntie. It's the sporting thing. You know I never could bear having Reggie Armistead do anything I couldn't. Every one will be doing it soon."
"I can't believe that you're in earnest."
"I am, awfully."
"But the danger! You must realize that!"
"I do—that's what attracts me." She got up and put her arms around Mrs. Westfield's neck. "O Auntie, dear, don't bother. I'm absolutely impossible anyway. I can't be happy doing the things that other girls do, and you might as well let me have my own way—"
"But flying—"