"Why?"
"You're not fit—"
"Oh, yes I am—"
"Besides, you can't—"
"Why not?"
"Your aëroplane—it won't fly?"
She stopped in the doorway and glanced anxiously down the slope where her Bleriot had fallen.
"One wing is broken, you see."
She went down the hill, Markham following. She stood before the broken machine and looked at it dejectedly.
"Well?" he asked.