“Thank you, I believe I shall, but I will be up early. Are you planning to leave in the morning?” Roberta asked.
“I do not know. It depends upon how I feel and what the weather looks like. I shall retire as soon as I have finished dinner,” Mrs. Pollzoff answered. With her helmet off the gauze and tape completely covered the wound on her chin, and when she thought of her former suspicions, the girl Sky-pilot wanted to apologize for her stupid idea that her employer could possibly have been in any way connected with the attempted theft of Nike. She hurried with her dressing, and before she was ready, the waiter appeared with the tray.
“Anything I can do?” Roberta asked.
“Not a thing, thank you. Take your key, for I shall probably be asleep by the time you return.”
“I have it. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Roberta made her way along the winding hall of the old house and decided that the house was one of those which had been built a good many years ago with later wings and additions. Twice she had to step down a couple of steps, and once around a sharp corner she had to go up three. However, she had no difficulty in getting to the main floor, which was cheery with old fashioned chandeliers that had yards of long crystals dangling so that the light sparkled through them, and the slightest breeze, or current of air passing set them tinkling merrily. Presently she was in the dining room and a very courteous old colored man, who looked as if he had stepped out of a picture of an ancient plantation home before the Civil war, showed her to a table from which she got an excellent view of the whole room.
Most of the tables were occupied, for it was late, but a few others came in when she was eating her first course. She noticed a party of young people, three men and two girls, who looked as if they were bound for a party of some kind, and when they were seated they made the place ring with their fun. They were rather a contrast from the other diners, but they were not boisterous nor ill-bred with their jollification.
“Pardon me, isn’t this Miss Langwell!” It was a delightful Southern drawl and Roberta looked up into the eyes of Mr. Powell, a young man who had taken the flying course under Mr. Wallace at Lurtiss Field, and whom she had helped pass his exams.
“Mr. Powell, how do you do?”