e flap of a
flapper," Di finished. "Once we're at Hendon, I'm sure Father can be
coaxed to let us go up for just a short flight, though he thinks now
that nothing could induce him to. Captain March has promised that I
shall be his first woman passenger. Never has he taken a woman with him
yet."

I only gasped inaudibly, and bit a little piece off my heart. Of course
I guessed then what must have happened; and when Eagle came that
afternoon, I _knew_. I was for him a nice child still--a "good, useful
little flapper," as Di said, and he was my friend as before; but Diana
had lit up the world for him. He could hardly take his eyes off her.
When she spoke, even at a distance, he heard every word, and nothing
that any one else said.

"Why didn't you tell me your sister was such a wonderful beauty?" he
mumbled as he was saying good-bye.

Old people, and even middle-aged people over twenty-five, must have
forgotten how it can hurt when you are sixteen to be in love with some
one who loves somebody else; for neither in books nor in real life do
these worn-out persons ever take such a thing seriously. But I shall
never cease to remember how it feels: like having to keep smiling while
a bullet is probed for in your heart, not probed for only once, and
finished for good, but prodded and poked at every minute of every hour,
day after day, week after week, month after month. How can you tell
whether or no it's going to be year after year as well, till all the red
blood of your youth and hope has slowly been drained away?

CHAPTER IV

Neither Diana nor I had ever been at Hendon. Captain March sent a motor
car for us, and I saw Father and Di were both impressed by this. They
thought he must have money (as all proper Americans have, according to
their idea) apart from his future expectations. What _I_ thought was,
that having fallen in love with Di, nothing but a motor car could be
good enough for a goddess, and--hang the expense!

Di, who was invited sometimes for a spin in friends' automobiles, had a
fetching motor get-up which, eked out with one of those horrific
headpieces flying people wear, could be used for a short flight. I had
nothing of the sort, but Di offered to lend me her lined coat. After
all, she owed the expedition and the airman to me.

It was a hired car, but, in Father's opinion, a dashed decent one. It
flashed us out past the Marble Arch, straight along the Edgware Road, to
the Flying Ground, which