"Quite so. There must always be some one of our class to whom people can look, whenever they suspect that we are not democratic. Besides, I have always fancied surgery." She told briefly of her work.
"Why, you are a famous person!" declared the athlete.
"You make me ashamed; I do nothing at all but amuse myself."
"Which is quite as well, Mr. Fort," the mother assured him. "I tried my best to keep Mona out of this; a social conquest is what I had planned for her. But she had set her mind on surgery; so—" And she left the rest to Fort's imagination.
A moment later Billie heard a flying-machine approaching. Shortly it came near enough for her to see that it was greatly like a yacht, painted white all over, and possessing exceptionally tall masts. The canvas was already unfurled and the vessel descending under the control of some unusually powerful wings.
"Mr. Powart's official boat," Mona explained to Fort.
The craft landed softly on the edge of the lawn, some distance away. The three on the terrace did not stir from their places as Powart, accompanied by eight men in uniform, stepped swiftly down a short ladder and strode rapidly to the house. The eight guards, each of whom carried a brown leather box, like a motion-picture camera, took up unobtrusive positions near at hand. These cases, however, were not used for taking photographs; Billie thought them more like some kind of condensed rapid-fire guns.
Before Powart got within ear-shot, Mona leaned toward Fort. "This is my fiance," she said with an evident effort; and when she straightened up her hands were trembling.
Fort took it astonishingly well. He concealed any hint of his feelings as the chairman was introduced. Powart gave him a single penetrating glance, then advanced in his sure, self-confident way, and took both the girl's hands in his own. She remained in her seat.
"I am very glad to see you looking so well. Do you feel fully recovered, Mona?"