Beryl was in entire ignorance of the affair. He had been asked to regard it as strictly confidential, hence, he had not mentioned it, even to his well-beloved.
“Look here, dearest,” he said at last, looking across the big bowl of flowers in the centre of the table, “I don’t half like you coming with me to-night. There may be risk, and it is unfair that you should take it.”
“We are engaged, Ronnie; therefore, if there is any danger, why should I not share it?” was her prompt reply. “I am not afraid while I am with you.”
“That’s quite the right spirit, Beryl,” remarked her sister, approvingly.
“I quite appreciate your bravery, little one,” said Ronnie, “but flight on this misty night is fraught with more danger than people ever imagine. Once you are up you are lost, except for your compass. And to descend is, as you know, full of perils.”
“I quite appreciate all that,” said Beryl. “Don’t you recollect when I came over from Sandgate to Folkestone, and found a thick fog on this side? Well, I went on till I found a break in it on the Surrey Downs, and descended quite safely at Ash, near Aldershot.”
“That was in daylight—not on a dark night like this?”
“But where are you going?” she inquired.
To her question he remained silent. His was a mission in strict confidence.
Further argument followed between the pair, until at last, by the time dinner had ended, Ronald Pryor was compelled to accede to her request.