He uttered some conventional boy's joke about being amused to see her actually at work for the first time since he'd met her. And she made a little bridling of her neck above that vast, gull-like wing that she was pasting; and retorted that, indeed, she worked very hard. "Really," he teased her. "Always seem to be taking time off, whenever I've come." "You've only come twice, Mr. Dampier; and then it's been sort of lunch-time." "Oh, I see," he said. ("I may smoke, mayn't I?" and he lighted a cigarette.) "D'you always take your lunch out of doors, Miss Gwenna?" (He didn't see why _he_ shouldn't call her that.) She said, "I'd like to." Then she was suddenly afraid he might think she was thinking of their open-air lunch in that field, weeks ago, and she said quickly (still working): "I--I was so glad when I heard about the engine coming, and that Colonel Conyers had ordered the P.D.Q. to be made here. I--do congratulate you, Mr. Dampier. Tell me about the Machine, won't you?" He said, "Oh, you'll hear all about that presently; but look here, you haven't told me about _you_----" Gwenna could scarcely believe her ears; but yes, it was true. He was turning, turning from talk about the Machine, the P.D.Q., the _Fiancee_! Asking, for the first time, about herself. She drew a deep breath; she turned her bright, greeny-brown eyes sideways, longing at that moment for Leslie with whom to exchange a glance. Her own shyly triumphant look met only the deep, wise eyes of the Great Dane, lying in his corner of the Wing-room beside his kennel. He blinked, thumped his tail upon the floor. "Darling," whispered Gwenna, a little shakily, as she passed the tawny dog. "_Darling!_" She had to say it to something just then. Paul Dampier pursued, looking at her over his crossed arms on the back of that chair, "You haven't said whether you'll come to-morrow night." She asked (as if it mattered to her where she went, as long as it was with him), "What is this dinner?" "The Wilbur dinner? Oh, there's one every year. Just a meeting of those interested in flying. I thought you might care----" "Who'll be there?" "Oh, just people. Not many. Some ladies go. Why?" "Only because I haven't got anything at all to wear," announced Gwenna, much more confidently, however, than she could have done before Mr. Ryan had told her so much about her own looks, "except my everlasting white and the blue sash like at the Smiths'." "Well, that was awfully pretty; wasn't it? Only----" "What?" "Well, may I say something?" "Well, what is it?"