"Bunk!" he exclaimed, with an irreverent laugh. "You fellows make a voodoo mystery of flight because it pays you. There's nothing very difficult about it, after all. One has only to keep cool."
I was going to reply with I know not what appeal to his reason, when the clear, contralto voice of Miss Warren came suddenly from behind me. She hastened to meet him, holding out both her hands.
"Jack, this is good of you!" she cried. "It's just your generous way—you couldn't possibly have forgiven me more gracefully. To think that you, of all people, should be the mysterious airman of Westchester who has set every one talking and wondering! Why, it was the pleasantest surprise in life to see you get down from that machine after such a wonderful flight. And my father has been here to-day, also. Two such converts in one afternoon is a coincidence that seems too good to be true."
The young Monsieur Power was regarding her, I noticed, with a sort of curious reserve.
"Maybe there's something in that," he said. "You mustn't get the idea that I've altered my ground in the least, Ella."
"But you are flying yourself, now!"
"Certainly, but that doesn't mean that I approve of it as an amusement for you."
"When did you begin?"
"Last month, when I bought the machine. Since then I've been practicing around home."
The girl started from him in amazement.