"What my wife's aunt doesn't know about flying isn't worth knowing," remarked John with finality. "Why, she qualified for her ticket last year, and she'll never see forty again. How's that for an up-to-date aunt?"
"I doubt if she'll fly solo that distance, though," said Millie; "I don't think she ought to, either."
"Of course," said Robinson, "it's a bit of a strain for a woman of middle age to negotiate three hundred odd miles, even with a couple of landings for a cup of tea en route."
Millie rose. "Now, don't you men sit here for an hour discussing 'flying speeds,' 'gliding angles,' and all that sort of thing. I object to aero-maniacs on principle. I—" At that moment a peculiar noise, evidently in the near vicinity of the house, arrested the attention of the party.
"Sounded like something breaking," said Millie, going to the window, which overlooked the garden and a good-sized paddock beyond. John had already gone out to investigate.
In a minute or two he reappeared ushering in a very jolly-looking old gentleman in a flying suit.
"A thousand pardons, Mrs. Smith," said the new arrival; "John collected me in the paddock. Ha! ha! You know my theory about the paddock."
The guests having been introduced, explanations followed.
"You know my theory," began old Mr, Brown.
"Yes, rather; I should think we do," interrupted Millie, leading him to the most comfortable armchair "But," she quoted, "you are old, Mr. Brown; do you think at your age it is right?"