"This time you're not right," he corrected me. "I'm not at the Derby because it isn't much fun seeing a race when you don't know anything about the horses, and haven't a pal to go with." "But you must have lots of pals," I thought out aloud. "Every one adores the airmen." "Do they? I haven't noticed it." "Then you can't be conceited. Perhaps American men aren't. I never knew one before, except in business." "Good heavens! So you really are a business woman, as well as a linguist, apparently. At what age did you begin?" "What age do you take me for now?" I hedged. "About twelve or thirteen, I suppose, though I'm no judge of girls' ages, whether they're little or big." "I'm over twelve," I confessed, and went on hastily to change the dangerous subject. "But I really did have business with an American. It was in letters. My father made me write them, though they were signed with his name. He hates writing letters. I'm so thankful your name isn't Trowbridge. I hope you aren't related to any Trowbridges?" "Not one. But why?" "Oh, because, if you were, you might want to throw me to the wolves--I mean under the motor buses. We've done the Trowbridges of Chicago a fearful wrong. We let them our place in Ireland, while we came to London to enjoy ourselves." He laughed aloud, that very nice, young laugh of his, which made me feel more at home with him than with people I'd known all my life. "You really are a quaint little woman," he said. "Now I come to think of it, I do know some people in Chicago named Trowbridge." "Oh, well," said I, "if you must throw me out of anything, do it out of your monoplane. It would be so much more distinguished than out of a mere taxi. And at least, I should have flown first! For you would have to take me up before you could dash me down. And so my dream would have come true." "Is it your dream to fly?" he asked, interested. "Waking and sleeping," said I. "Ever since I was a tiny child, my very best dream has been that I was flying. Even to dream it asleep is perfectly wonderful and thrilling, worth being born for, just to feel. What must it be when you're actually awake?" "You are an enthusiast," said Captain March. "You've got it in your blood. What a pity you're not a boy. You could be a 'flying man' yourself." "Well, it's something to know one," said I. "Why, I'd give my hand--the left one--or anyhow, a finger of it--for just an hour in the air. A toe would be too cheap." "I'd take you up like a shot, if your people would let you go," said he. I gasped with joy. "Oh, _would_ you?" I exclaimed. "Really and truly, I didn't mean to hint! But it would be heaven to go!" "Not in my _Golden Eagle_," he laughed, "for I'd guarantee to bring you safe and sound back to earth again, this side of heaven. I can take up one passenger, though I haven't yet, since I came out here. I haven't met anybody, till now, I particularly cared to ask, and who would particularly have cared to go."