One bright Saturday afternoon in November the usual gay crowd had assembled at the aerodrome at Hendon to watch the aviation, a science not nearly so well developed in 1912 as it is to-day. At the Wingate works, on the farther side of the great open grass lands, Austin was busy in the long shed directing the final touches to a new machine, which was afterwards wheeled out, and in which he made an experimental flight around the aerodrome, which the public, many of them seated at tea-tables on the lawn, watched with interest. After making several circles and performing a number of evolutions, he came to earth close to a row of smart motor-cars drawn up on the lawn reserved for subscribers, and unstrapping himself sprang gaily out. As he did so he saw, seated in the driver's seat of a fine limousine straight before him, a girl in motoring kit chatting with an elderly man who stood beside the car. The girl's eyes met his, and the recognition was instantly mutual. She smiled merrily across to him, whereupon he crossed to her, just as he was, in his mechanic's rather greasy brown overalls, and bowing before her exclaimed: "How fortunate! Fancy meeting again like this!" Whereupon, with her cheeks flushed with undisguised pleasure, she shook his hand, and then turning to the tall elderly man explained: "This is the gentleman who smashed our punt at Henley, father! We have not met since." "I fear it was very careless of me, sir," Wingate said. "But I offer a thousand apologies." "The accident might have been far worse," declared the girl's father, smiling. "So let it rest at that." "I had no idea that it was you in the air just now," exclaimed the girl, and then for ten minutes or so the trio stood chatting, during which time he explained that his works were on the opposite side of the aerodrome, after which he shook hands and left them. "Whose car is that big grey one, third in the row yonder?" he asked eagerly of one of the gatekeepers, a few moments later. "Oh, that, sir? Why, that belongs to Mr Reginald Monkton, the Colonial Secretary. There he is--with his daughter." So his sweet, dainty friend of the river was daughter of the popular Cabinet Minister! He drew a long breath and bit his lip. Then climbing back into his machine, he waved father and daughter adieu and was soon skimming across to the row of long sheds which comprised the Wingate Aeroplane Factory.