aited her pleasure; and suddenly a thought struck Christobel. An
eager wish awoke within her.

"Mr. Taylor," she said, hurriedly; "can you supply me with the very
newest thing on the subject of aviation? I want to learn all there is
to know about propellers, steering-gear, cross-currents, and how to
avoid the dangers----"

She stopped short. The Professor had found what he wanted, and was
fumbling for his purse.

The bookseller turned quickly to a pile at his elbow, took up a
paper-covered book, and placed it in her hands. "The very latest," he
said. "Published yesterday. You will find in it all you want to
know." Then, as he handed the Professor his change, "Allow me to place
it to your account, Miss Charteris," he said.

Experiencing a quite unaccountable sense of elation and fresh interest
in life, Christobel, armed with her book on aviation, re-entered the
four-wheeler. The Professor, absorbed in his own purchase, had not
noticed her private transaction. He followed her into the cab, and
made three ineffectual attempts to close the door. Just as the driver
was slowly beginning to prepare to climb down, Mr. Taylor came across
the crowded pavement, to their rescue; released the Professor's
coat-tail, shut them in, and signed to the cabman to drive on. With a
good deal of "gee-up" and whip-flourishing, they re-commenced to
trundle. Mr. Taylor was not merely a provider of literature; he was
also a keen observer of life, and of human nature. As Christobel
leaned forward to acknowledge his help, and to smile her farewell, his
expression seemed to say: "A four-wheeler, Professor Harvey, and the
latest work on aviation! An unusual combination." "Very unusual," she
said to herself, and smiled again. Then it seemed to her that her
friend of the bookshop had said: "You will find what you want, on page
274." She knew he had not, as a matter of fact, mentioned any page;
but the figures came into her mind. She opened the book, and glanced
at page 274. It was headed: "Fine performances by Mr. Guy Chelsea."
She shut it quickly. There was no room for the actual presence of the
Boy in the Professor's four-wheeler.

They lunched at a depot of the Aerated Bread Company, close to Cannon
Street station. While Christobel was struggling with a very large
plateful of cold tongue, she suddenly remembered that one of the Boy's
many plans had been to take her to lunch at his favourite restaurant in
Piccadilly; where