Well, it was too early to say what I wanted to say, and, besides, I was nervous as yet. We hadn't settled down. As I expected, her breakfast had consisted of tea and a macaroon, so I produced a basket--lunch was to come later--in which a silver box of caviare sandwiches was surrounded by crushed ice in a larger box of zinc. There was also iced hock and seltzer water. We both felt more at home in a few minutes. We had lit our cigarettes, and I was thinking hard, when someone passing along the corridor looked in upon us for a moment. I had an impression of a brown face and a scowl. It was the man in tweeds that I had noticed at Paddington. "That _beast_!" said Connie suddenly. I turned and looked at her. She was frowning adorably, and I thought she looked rather pale. "D'you know him, then?" "I did, and I simply hate him." "Who is he?" "I expect you've heard his name, John. Most people have in town. He is Henry Helzephron, a big man in your way once." I _did_ know the name as that of a pilot of extraordinary courage and ability during the Great War. He had gained the Victoria Cross when a lad of twenty, and his exploits during two wonderful years formed part of the history of aviation. He had not flown for years now, and divided his time between the more dissipated haunts of the West End and an estate he had somewhere in Devon or Cornwall, a "has-been" with a sinister reputation, a lounger of thirty-six. "I know. 'Hawk Helzephron' he used to be called. Gone all to pieces, I understand. But how do _you_ know him, dear?" "He did me the honour to ask me to marry him about two months ago," she answered, "and since then he is always putting himself in my way. He does not speak, but he comes to the theatre and glares. I am always meeting him, and I hate the sight of him. He makes me afraid...." Here was my chance and I took it like a shot. She should never be unprotected from Helzephrons and all the tribe who haunt the stage door any more! A successful aviator takes instantaneous decisions. He must. If he hesitates he's lost. What I said, as the Riviera Express hurled itself through the summer noon, is not part of this narrative. I daresay I was no more original than most men, but the results were eminently satisfactory for, as we ran past the towers and winding river of Exeter, Connie and I were engaged. I remember that I lugged the ring out of my waistcoat pocket--sapphires and diamonds, a top-shelf ring!--precisely as we glided through Exeter Station. "O-oh!" said Connie, as the thing winked and shone in the sunlight; and then: "You _wretch_! I'll never forgive you--never!" I wondered what was the matter. In fact, I asked her. "You made so sure of me that you actually bought this beforehand!" "It doesn't do to leave anything to chance," I said, and I made her put it on, and gave her several other things of no particular importance while she was doing it.