The late Mrs. Bampton thought it wise to convey to Lady Mary her opinion
that Filmer, all things considered, was rather a "grub." "He's certainly
not a sort of man I have ever met before," said the Lady Mary,
with a quite unruffled serenity. And Mrs. Bampton, after a swift,
imperceptible glance at that serenity, decided that so far as saying
anything to Lady Mary went, she had done as much as could be expected
of her. But she said a great deal to other people.

And at last, without any undue haste or unseemliness, the day
dawned, the great day, when Banghurst had promised his public--
the world in fact--that flying should be finally attained and overcome.
Filmer saw it dawn, watched even in the darkness before it dawned,
watched its stars fade and the grey and pearly pinks give place
at last to the clear blue sky of a sunny, cloudless day. He watched it
from the window of his bedroom in the new-built wing of Banghurst's
Tudor house. And as the stars were overwhelmed and the shapes and
substances of things grew into being out of the amorphous dark,
he must have seen more and more distinctly the festive preparations
beyond the beech clumps near the green pavilion in the outer park,
the three stands for the privileged spectators, the raw, new fencing
of the enclosure, the sheds and workshops, the Venetian masts
and fluttering flags that Banghurst had considered essential,
black and limp in the breezeless dawn, and amidst all these things
a great shape covered with tarpauling. A strange and terrible
portent for humanity was that shape, a beginning that must surely
spread and widen and change and dominate all the affairs of men,
but to Filmer it is very doubtful whether it appeared in anything
but a narrow and personal light. Several people heard him pacing
in the small hours--for the vast place was packed with guests