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 were out on the aerodrome with their instructors, preparing for their lesson.

Roseye noticed this, and smiled across at me. She remembered, probably, how carefully I used to strap her into the seat, and how, more than once, she had gasped when we made a nose dive, or volplaned for an undesired landing. Yet, even in those days, she had betrayed no fear in the air for, apparently, she reposed entire faith in my judgment and my capabilities at the joy-stick.

We stood watching Eastwell as he banked first on one side, then on the other, until at last he made a graceful tour of the aerodrome and, swooping down suddenly, landed quite close to us.

'Morning!' he cried cheerily, as he slowly unstrapped himself and climbed out of his seat. 'Morning, Miss Lethmere,' he added, saluting. 'Well, how does my bus go? You had a little engine trouble, hadn't you?'

'Yes. I couldn't overtake Mr. Munro,' she replied, laughing. 'Were you watching me?'

'Yes. I've just come back from Cambridge. I left here this morning as soon as it was light.'

Eastwell, in his aviator's leather jacket, fur helmet and goggles, presented a tall, gaunt, rather uncouth figure. Yet, in his ordinary clothes, he was something of a dandy, with light brown hair, a carefully-trained moustache, and a pair of shrewd grey eyes.

Roseye had been acquainted with him for over two years, and it was she who had first introduced us.

They had met at Wiesbaden, where her father, Sir Herbert, had been taking his annual 'cure.'