She had met plenty of flying-men before. Hadn't she talked to them in the aerodromes of her own country--which was also the birthplace of that very marvel, flying? Hadn't she been introduced to her aviators who had broken records for altitude, distance, and time? Hadn't she danced at balls with some of the very first pilots who'd ever looped? Flying and flyers had been no new proposition to her, but _this_ flyer.... Presently the young American girl began to realize what it was that was new and special about "this flyer." It was symbolized in the little gold stripe on the cuff of his flying-jacket. He was the very first _fighting_ flyer who had crossed her path. The first she'd met who had already given battle to men in the air, the first she'd known who had been shot down in fighting for the cause which was now her country's too. Never before had she seen a man who had actually used her country's invention of flying as the instrument of battle. She, with her whole country, had wished to use this invention as a beneficent gift. Her country had seen that _before this gift could be so used_, stern work lay before the men of the air. She saw it, too.... As that War-missioner had said. Her country was looking with other eyes upon her Allies. For Golden these new friends were typified in the young Briton who wore the wound stripe as well as the wings. She told herself wonderingly, "Now isn't it queer that I should ever come to like one of the English so well. This Bird-boy is quite nice enough to be an American...." Neither of the young people remembered afterwards at what exact moment of that second day she had called him "Bird-boy." Though he took it with a hidden lift of the heart, he did not use any name at all to her until the third day. On the morning of that day she announced to him that it would be her last day at Les Pins. "What? Going?" he cried aghast, as if the idea that she must one day go had never occurred to him. "Why, yes! I'd never meant to stay here at all. It was just because of father, and now he cables me he'll be back in London before I shall." "Well, but I say!" Jack Awdas broke in in consternation. "Shan't I see you any more?" It seemed unspeakable. "Didn't you tell me you were coming back to London at the end of the fall, to a Board or something? My father would be pleased if you came and saw us then." "But that's not for ages!" he cried, his face blank. "I'm not due back in town for another month! When are you going? Tonight? Tomorrow?" "Tomorrow morning early, to Bordeaux; then on to Paris, then London." "All by yourself?" exclaimed the young Englishman stupefied.