“Don't you want a thing to eat?” he persisted.
“Not a thing. I've just had my breakfast. It's only nine o'clock——”
“I know, but we've come thirty miles and the air makes you hungry. We ought to eat about six good meals a day.”
She shook her head.
“No—not yet. I'm too happy with these new wings. I want to fly some more—come on——”
He lifted his hand in his favorite gesture of obedience.
“'Nuff said—we'll streak it back now by another road, hump it through town and jump over the Brooklyn Bridge. I'll show you Coney Island and then I know you'll want a hot dog anyhow.”
He crossed the country and darted into Broadway. Before she could realize it, the last tree and field were lost behind in a cloud of dust, and they were again in the crowded streets of the city. The deep growl of his horn rang its warnings for each crossing and Mary watched the timid women scramble to the sidewalks five and six blocks ahead.
It was delicious. She had always been the one to scramble before. Her heart went out in a wave of tenderness to the man by her side, strong, daring, masterful, her chevalier, her protector and admirer.
Yes, her admirer! There was no doubt on that point. The moment he relaxed the tension of his hand on the wheel, his deep, mysterious eyes beneath the drooping lids were fixed on hers in open, shameless admiration. Their cold fire burned into her heart and thrilled to her finger-tips.