“A dreamery, I’d call it. May I sit down? Are there devilkins here? There’s an elfkin, anyway,” she added, as a silvered dragon-fly hovered above her head inquisitively before darting away on his own concerns. “One of my friends and specimens. I’m studying his methods of aviation with a view to making some practical use of what I learn, eventually.” “Really? Are you an inventor, too? I’m crazy about aviation.” “Ah, then you’ll be interested in this,” he said, now quite at his ease. “You know that the mosquito is the curse of the tropics.” “Of other places, as well.” “But in the tropics it means yellow fever, Chagres fever, and other epidemic illness. Now, the mosquito, as you doubtless realize, is a monoplane.” “A monoplane?” repeated the girl, in some puzzlement. “How a monoplane?” “I thought you claimed some knowledge of aviation. Its wings are all on one plane. The great natural enemy of the mosquito is the dragon-fly, one of which just paid you a visit. Now, modern warfare has taught us that the most effective assailant of the monoplane is a biplane. You know that.” “Y-y-yes,” said the girl doubtfully. “Therefore, if we can breed a biplane dragonfly in sufficient numbers, we might solve the mosquito problem at small expense.” “I don’t know much about science,” she began, “but I should hardly have supposed—” “It’s curious how nature varies the type of aviation,” he continued dreamily. “Now, the pigeon is, of course, a Zeppelin; whereas the sea urchin is obviously a balloon; and the thistledown an undirigible—” “You’re making fun of me!” she accused, with sharp enlightenment. “What else have you done to me ever since we met?” he inquired mildly. “Now I _am_ angry! I shall go home at once.” A second far-away _plop!_ set a period to her decision. “So shall I,” said he briskly. “Does that signal mean hurry up?” she asked curiously. “Well, it means that I’m wanted. You go first. When will you come again?” “Not at all.” “Do you mean that?” “Of course. I’m angry. Didn’t I tell you that? I don’t permit people to make fun of me. Besides, you must come and see me next. You owe me two calls. Will you?” “I—I—don’t know.” “Afraid?” “Rather.” “Then you must surely come and conquer this cowardice. Will you come to-morrow?” “No; I don’t think so.” Miss Brewster opened wide her eyes upon him. She was little accustomed to have her invitations, which she issued rather in the manner of royal commands, thus casually received. Had the offender been any other of her acquaintance, she would have dropped the matter and the man then and there. But this was a different species. Graceful and tactful he might not be, but he was honest. “Why?” she said. “I’ve got something more important to do.” “You’re reverting to type sadly. What is it that’s so important?” “Work.” “You can work any time.” “No. Unfortunately I have to eat and sleep sometimes.” The implication she accepted quite seriously.