“What, more ballooning? Oh, dear, dear! When will this end?”
The squire, who was thinking of his daughter, did not take much notice of what the doctor said, but endeavoured to call his attention to Edith, who was slowly recovering herself, and exclaimed,—
“Don’t, my dear father, trouble the doctor.”
While the squire and he were examining the photo, the aeronaut and the captain had begged to be admitted, and had come over to Miss Dove and were saying a few kind words to revive her, not knowing the cause of her attack, though Harry Goodall was reminded, by the appearance and size of the photo, of that unexpected incident in his uncle’s presence, when the ship photographer was announced, but he little thought that it was actually one of the three photos that had been taken of the trial trip of his air-ship on the palace lake.
“You can now plainly see, doctor,” said the squire, pointing to the photo, “that my views are proving sounder than yours hour by hour; but I thought it was Falcon who saved my daughter’s life?”
“Of course you thought that the financier rescued her, for did he not tell you so in my presence,” cried the doctor. “You forget, however, squire, that sensational pictures are not always to be relied upon.”
“That one may be,” retorted Miss Dove, in a firm voice, “for I declare that Mr Falcon never put forth a finger to save me. It was this brave gentleman who did so,” cried Edith, as she grasped the aeronaut’s hand and drew him down by her side.
And while a fresh interchange of tender and grateful feeling was proceeding, the squire, Doctor Peters and the captain were intently looking at the respective figures in the photo.
Presently the squire exclaimed, with an undisguised amount of sarcastic sharpness,—
“Falcon’s attitude is characteristic of the man. Don’t you think so, captain?”