Come, Rex." She turned back again at the hemlocks which
flanked the forest path. "I'll ask Miss Westfall to send some men,"
she added and halted.
For Diane had surprised a look of such keen regret in the young
aviator's face that they both colored hotly.
"Beastly luck!" stammered the young man lamely. "I _am_ disappointed.
I--I don't seem to have another match."
"Your cigarette is burning splendidly," hinted Diane coolly, "and
you've a match in your hand."
For a tense, magnetic instant the keen blue eyes flashed a curious
message of pleading and apology, then the aviator fell to whistling
softly, struck the match and finding no immediate function for it,
dropped it in the water.
"I don't in the least mind floating about," he stammered, his eyes
sparkling with silent laughter, "and possibly I'll make shore directly;
but Lord love us! don't send the sharp-shooteress--please! Better
abandon me to my fate."
Slim and straight as the silver birches by the water, Diane hurried
away up the lake-path.
"The young man," she flashed with a stamp of her foot, "is a very great
fool."
"Johnny," she said a little later to a little, bewhiskered man with
cheeks like hard red winter apples, "there's a sociable, happy-go-lucky
young man perched on an aeroplane in the middle of our lake.
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