And now I come to a very pretty and pleasant little adventure which has its own place in the sequence of events. Only part of it came under my own immediate observation; the rest I had to piece together by adroit questioning and the aid of a little imagination.
It began with Kitty Clevedon, who, as she was crossing the park that partly surrounds Hapforth House, was a little startled to see an aeroplane coming rapidly to earth. It alighted only about sixty yards away, and a young man jumped out and came towards her.
“Hallo! Kitty Clevedon, by all that’s lucky!” he cried. “I thought it was, which was why I gave the order to come down.”
“Jimmy! but you are a stranger,” Kitty returned smilingly, as they shook hands. “Are you still in the Air Service? I thought you had been de—”
“Oh, yes, this is my own. I do it for fun now. Care to step aboard the old bus and see what it is like?”
He helped her in and then gave some signal she did not comprehend, and up they went.
“What are you doing?” Kitty demanded. “You have no right to take—”
“None at all,” he admitted cheerfully. “But it would be a dull world if we only did what we have a right to do, wouldn’t it?”
“You must let me get out, Jimmy,” she said, stamping her foot.
“I’m not stopping you,” he retorted, with a laugh, “but it’s a longish step down to Mother Earth—about 600 feet, I should judge. Would you like to have a look out? You are not frightened, are you? Have you ever been up before?”