, even two years ago, was the favourite resort
of fashion, especially female fashion. I had often wondered what it
might be like out there, and was rather disappointed to see only some
large flat fields close to the highroad, with a long line of low,
uninteresting sheds ranged side by side. It did seem as if airmen, who
must be brimming like full cups with wine of romance and imagination,
ought to have invented sightlier houses for their beloved machines. But
the very thought that the ugly huts were hangars gave a thrill. Captain
March was to meet us at Hendon, but we didn't see him at first. As we
arrived, an aeroplane went up, and a monoplane was circling the
enclosure, giving sudden dips at fearfully steep angles as it took the
turns, righting itself like a lazy, long-tailed eagle with far-spread
wings as it came again into the straight. Captain March's hired
chauffeur, who had been told exactly what to do, ran the car up a short
road on the right, and stopped.

"That's the captain's hangar, my lord," said he to Father, pointing to a
shed near which we had halted; and his arm hadn't time to drop before
the man-made bird, which had been circling round, planed down and glided
in at the wide-open door like a homing pigeon into a pigeon house.

It was beautifully managed, and so dramatic that it was like the climax
of an act on the stage. Perhaps Captain March had been performing some
feat before we came; anyhow, as he brought his monoplane to rest a lot
of people standing about applauded him. In a minute he came almost
running out of the shed straight toward us, in his leather clothes and
leather helmet, with goggles pushed up to the top of his head. Instead
of being proud of what he had done, whatever it was, he apologized
abjectly for "being late," and I could see that Di was vain of her
conquest. Lots of women were there, staring enviously at the pretty girl
who knew a real, live airman--evidently, too, one of the popular ones;
and Di loves to be envied. I'm afraid we all do, in the secret places of
our hearts which we don't like to peer into, under the dust.

One thing about Di, which makes men adore her, is that she contrives to
seem exquisitely sympathetic and enthusiastic without ever gushing. It's
partly the shape of her eyes and the shortness of her upper lip, which
combine together to give a lovely, rapt, brooding expression, that saves
her the trouble of thinking up adjectives. With this look on, she
appeal