"What my wife's aunt doesn't know about flying isn't worth knowing,"
remarked John with finality. "Why, she qualified for her ticket last
year, and she'll never see forty again. How's that for an up-to-date
aunt?"

"I doubt if she'll fly solo that distance, though," said Millie; "I
don't think she ought to, either."

"Of course," said Robinson, "it's a bit of a strain for a woman of
middle age to negotiate three hundred odd miles, even with a couple of
landings for a cup of tea _en route_."

Millie rose. "Now, don't you men sit here for an hour discussing 'flying
speeds,' 'gliding angles,' and all that sort of thing. I object to
aero-maniacs on principle. I--" At that moment a peculiar noise,
evidently in the near vicinity of the house, arrested the attention of
the party.

"Sounded like something breaking," said Millie, going to the window,
which overlooked the garden and a good-sized paddock beyond. John had
already gone out to investigate.

In a minute or two he reappeared ushering in a very jolly-looking old
gentleman in a flying suit.

"A thousand pardons, Mrs. Smith," said the new arrival; "John collected
me in the paddock. Ha! ha! You know my theory about the paddock."

The guests having been introduced, explanations followed.