The butler replied, with deference: "I think he's in the croft, Sir Raife, with his flying-machine." In sharp tones, that were unfamiliar to the old servant, he rasped out: "Where is Miss Muirhead?" The answer came back: "I think she is in the croft, too, Sir Raife." Raife seized his hat, which he had flung upon the table, and descended with heavy tread to the hall. His powerful frame quivered with emotion. He slammed the door and, endeavouring to control himself, sauntered down the terraces, and entered the croft by way of the stable-yard. He was just in time to hear the buzz of a rapidly-revolving engine, and, looking upwards, he saw an aeroplane winging its way at lightning speed over the turrets and twisted chimneys of the Tudor mansion that was his. At the far end of the croft he descried Hilda, his fiancee, waving a handkerchief to the disappearing airman. His rage knew no bounds. He wanted a gun to take a parting shot at this American, who had intruded himself on his happiness. He waited with folded arms and scowling face, until Hilda had tripped across the soft grass of the croft. She ran straight up to him, and, before he had time to resist, threw her arms around his neck. Her sweet voice, in genuine tones, rang in his ears: "Raife, Raife, how we have missed you. You dear, wicked old thing to have run away from us." The complete spontaneity of her action, and the earnestness of her conduct, immediately softened his rage. For a while he said nothing. She lingered with her arms still clinging to him, and appealed: "Raife, why, I verily believe you are angry with me. Don't, dear Raife. It will break my heart if you, my hero, my own true love, should be angry with me." Then, as the cloud gradually removed from his stern countenance, she continued, pleadingly: "What have I done, Raife? Was it only that stupid talk about Mr Brookman's American voice? Why, we always talk that way over there. If you had been away for a long time, wouldn't you like to hear an English voice, even if it was only dear old Edgson's, or one of your grooms' or gardeners'?" The conquest was nearly complete. Raife's smile was only half-hearted as yet, however, as he said, in a tone of remonstrance: "Yes, but they tell me you have been riding in that fellow's aeroplane." Hilda laughed merrily as she said: "Of course I have. You dear heart, you don't have to be jealous about that. You great, big, brave darling. You go up in one, and you will find there's no time for courting when you are chug-chugging through the air at sixty to seventy miles an hour. You only want to court the sky, or else the clouds, then!"