A successful aviator takes instantaneous decisions. He must. If he hesitates he's lost.
What I said, as the Riviera Express hurled itself through the summer noon, is not part of this narrative. I daresay I was no more original than most men, but the results were eminently satisfactory for, as we ran past the towers and winding river of Exeter, Connie and I were engaged.
I remember that I lugged the ring out of my waistcoat pocket—sapphires and diamonds, a top-shelf ring!—precisely as we glided through Exeter Station.
"O-oh!" said Connie, as the thing winked and shone in the sunlight; and then: "You wretch! I'll never forgive you—never!"
I wondered what was the matter. In fact, I asked her.
"You made so sure of me that you actually bought this beforehand!"
"It doesn't do to leave anything to chance," I said, and I made her put it on, and gave her several other things of no particular importance while she was doing it.
For the rest of the journey, past the red cliffs and blue seas of Teignmouth and Paignton, we had a long and happy talk, finding out—of course—all sorts of delightful things about each other which we had only suspected before.
Perhaps there is nothing fresher and more delightful in life than those first few hours of revelation, when a man and a girl who love each other have, at last, become engaged. It is like coming into harbour after an anxious voyage, and yet, all the time there is the splendid knowledge that there are new and marvellous seas waiting to be explored, this time—together!