"What a perfect morning!" she exclaimed--"All things seem new! And I have had such a good rest! The air is so pure and clean--surely we are over the sea?" "We are some fifteen thousand feet above the Mediterranean"--answered Rivardi, looking at her as he spoke with unconcealed admiration;--never, he thought, had she seemed so charming, youthful and entirely lovable--"I am glad you have rested--you look quite refreshed and radiant. After all, it is a test of endurance--this journey to Egypt and back." "Do you think so?" and Morgana smiled--"It should be nothing--it really is nothing! We ought to be quite ready and willing to travel like this for a week on end! But you and Gaspard are not yet absolutely sure of our motive power!--you cannot realise that as long as we keep going so long will our 'going' force be generated without effort--yet surely it is proved!" Gaspard lifted his eyes towards her where she stood like a little white Madonna in a shrine. "Yes, Madama, it is proved!" he said--"But the secret of its proving?--" "Ah! That, for the present, remains locked up in the mystery box--here!" and she tapped her forehead with her finger--"The world is not ready for it. The world is a destructive savage, loving evil rather than good, and it would work mischief more than usefulness with such a force--if it knew! Now I will dress, and give you breakfast in ten minutes." She waved a hand to them and disappeared, returning after a brief interval attired in her "aviation" costume and cap. Soon she had prepared quite a tempting breakfast on the table. "Thermos coffee!" she said, gaily--"All hot and hot! We could have had Thermos tea, but I think coffee more inspiriting. Tea always reminds me of an afternoon at a country vicarage where good ladies sit round a table and talk of babies and rheumatism. Kind,--but so dull! Come--you must take it in turns--you, Marchese, first, while Gaspard steers--and Gaspard next--just as you did last night at what we called dinner, before you fell asleep! Men DO fall asleep after dinner you know!--it's quite ordinary. Married men especially!--I think they do it to avoid conversation with their wives!" She laughed, and her eyes flashed mirthfully as Rivardi seated himself opposite to her at table. "Well, _I_ am not married"--he said, rather petulantly--"Nor is Gaspard. But some day we may fall into temptation and NOT be delivered from evil." "Ah yes!" and Morgana shook her fair head at him with mock dolefulness--"And that will be very sad! Though nowadays it will not bind you to a fettered existence. Marriage has ceased to be a sacrament,--you can leave your wives as soon as you get tired of them,--or--they can leave YOU!" Rivardi looked at her with reproach in his handsome face and dark eyes. "You read the modern Press"--he said--"A pity you do!"