At half-past eleven the enclosures for the public in the outer park were crammed, there was an intermittent stream of equipages along the belt which circles the outer park, and the house party was dotted over the lawn and shrubbery and the corner of the inner park, in a series of brilliantly attired knots, all making for the flying machine. Filmer walked in a group of three with Banghurst, who was supremely and conspicuously happy, and Sir Theodore Hickle, the president of the Aeronautical Society. Mrs. Banghurst was close behind with the Lady Mary Elkinghorn, Georgina Hickle, and the Dean of Stays. Banghurst was large and copious in speech, and such interstices as he left were filled in by Hickle with complimentary remarks to Filmer. And Filmer walked between them saying not a word except by way of unavoidable reply. Behind, Mrs. Banghurst listened to the admirably suitable and shapely conversation of the Dean with that fluttered attention to the ampler clergy ten years of social ascent and ascendency had not cured in her; and the Lady Mary watched, no doubt with an entire confidence in the world's disillusionment, the drooping shoulders of the sort of man she had never met before. There was some cheering as the central party came into view of the enclosures, but it was not very unanimous nor invigorating cheering. They were within fifty yards of the apparatus when Filmer took a hasty glance over his shoulder to measure the distance of the ladies behind them, and decided to make the first remark he had initiated since the house had been left. His voice was just a little hoarse, and he cut in on Banghurst in mid-sentence on Progress. “I say, Banghurst,” he said, and stopped. “Yes,” said Banghurst. “I wish--” He moistened his lips. “I'm not feeling well.” Banghurst stopped dead. “Eh?” he shouted. “A queer feeling.” Filmer made to move on, but Banghurst was immovable. “I don't know. I may be better in a minute. If not--perhaps... MacAndrew--” “You're not feeling WELL?” said Banghurst, and stared at his white face. “My dear!” he said, as Mrs. Banghurst came up with them, “Filmer says he isn't feeling WELL.” “A little queer,” exclaimed Filmer, avoiding the Lady Mary's eyes. “It may pass off--” There was a pause. It came to Filmer that he was the most isolated person in the world. “In any case,” said Banghurst, “the ascent must be made. Perhaps if you were to sit down somewhere for a moment--” “It's the crowd, I think,” said Filmer. There was a second pause. Banghurst's eye rested in scrutiny on Filmer, and then swept the sample of public in the enclosure. “It's unfortunate,” said Sir Theodore Hickle; “but still--I suppose--Your assistants--Of course, if you feel out of condition and disinclined--” “I don't think Mr. Filmer would permit THAT for a moment,” said Lady Mary. “But if Mr. Filmer's nerve is run--It might even be dangerous for him to attempt--” Hickle coughed.