"I was rather a brute to forget! ... It's a night-flare to guide—possible home-comers! ... Wads of tow dipped in petrol, burning in iron buckets round our landing-place.'
"I ought to have guessed," she said ruefully. "Forgive me for being such an idiot!"
His answer was unexpected.
"On condition that you'll leave off saying 'Great Scott!' and things like that."
"All right! But what's the matter with the expression, anyhow?" she demanded. "Do you always get riled when women use slang?"
They had been standing within the gate that led upon the Flying Ground, still girdled by its Valkyr-ring of leaping flame. He said, holding open the gate to let her pass through:
"I use slang myself, habitually, like every other man I know. But I don't know a man who really likes to hear his wife or sweetheart copy him in that respect. For myself who have neither wife, sweetheart, nor even sister, I can only say what I feel. It is—that a beautiful woman should use beautiful language. One of the old Greek poets put the whole thing into two lines. I've forgotten the original, but the translation runs like this:
"From the goddess the speech of Olympus,
From the herd-maid the language of the cows."
"I'm no goddess, God knows!" said Patrine, sorrowfully and sincerely.
Then a light scorching flame seemed to envelop her whole body. She felt Sherbrand's breath upon her cheek.... He said, speaking swiftly, and close to her ear: