The Flyers | Page 4

to
chirp like a bird when she talks, too."
"That governess is a mighty stunning girl, by the way," said Rolfe.
"She's been over here a year, you know," said Mrs. Scudaway, with no

apparent relevancy.
"Have you heard when Eleanor's engagement is to be announced?"
asked Miss Ratliff.
"I'm not supposed to tell, but I have it on the best authority that it will
be announced next week, and the wedding will take place in November.
I suppose they'll ask Joe Dauntless to be an usher," said Mrs. Carter.
"Hello! Joe's gone outside. He must have heard something we said,"
said Rolfe, setting his highball glass down with a thump.
"Oh, if he had only been educated at Cambridge instead of in
Cambridge," mourned Mrs. Carter.
It was true that the tall, good-looking Mr. Dauntless had left the room,
but not because he had heard the comments of his friends. He was
standing on the wind-swept verandah, peering through the mist toward
a distant splash of light across the ravine to the right of the club
grounds. The fog and mist combined to run the many lights of the
Thursdale windows into a single smear of colour a few shades brighter
than the darkness from which it protruded. Dauntless's heart was inside
that vague, impressionistic circle of colour, but his brain was very
much in evidence on the distant outside. What were the workings of
that eager brain will soon be revealed--to the reader, at least, if not to
the occupants of the rain-bound clubhouse.
A word concerning Dauntless. He was the good-looking son of old
banker Dauntless, who died immediately after his cashier brought ruin
to the concern of which he was president. This blow fell when his son
was in his senior year at Harvard. He took his degree, and then, instead
of the promised trip around the world, he came home and went to work
in the offices of a big brokerage firm. Everybody knew and liked him.
He was a steady, earnest worker, and likewise a sportsman of the right
temperament. Big, fashionable Faraway looked upon him as its most
gallant member; no one cared to remember that he might have been
very rich; every one loved him because he had been rich and was
worthy in spite of that. It was common knowledge that he was

desperately in love with pretty Eleanor Thursdale, daughter of the
eminently fashionable and snobbishly aristocratic widow Thursdale,
mistress of many millions and leader of select hundreds. Moreover, it
was now pretty well known that Mrs. Thursdale had utterly lost sight of
Dauntless in surveying the field of desirable husbands for Eleanor. She
could see nothing but Englishmen, behind whom lurked the historic
London drawing-rooms and British estates. That is how and why young
Windomshire, a most delightful Londoner, with prospects and a
peerage behind him, came to be a guest in her city house, following
close upon a long sojourn in the Bermudas. HE had been chosen; the
battle was over, so far as Eleanor's hand was concerned. What matter if
Dauntless had her heart?
The object of this indifference and scorn gazed long and hard at the
blob of light across the ravine. His heart was beating fast, and his body
tingled with a strange excitement, which made itself manifest in a
mixture of impatient frowns and prophetic smiles.
"If it wasn't such a beastly night," he was muttering in one breath, and,
"Still, it's just the sort of a night we want," in the next. He was looking
at his watch in the light from the window when an automobile whizzed
up the wet gravel drive and came to a stop in front of the club steps. As
Dauntless re-entered the house from the verandah, a tall young man in a
motor coat and goggles came in through the opposite door. They
paused and looked steadily at each other, then nodded briefly. The
crowd of loungers glanced at the two men with instant curiosity and
then breathed easily. The man who was going to marry Miss Thursdale
and the man who wanted to marry her were advancing to shake
hands--a trifle awkwardly, perhaps, but more or less frankly.
"Rough weather for motoring," remarked Dauntless, nervously.
Windomshire removed his cap and goggles.
"Beastly. I just ran over for something to warm the inside man. Won't
you join me?" His voice was pleasant to the ear, his manner easy and
appealing. He was not so good looking as Dauntless, true, but he had
the air of a thoroughbred in his make-up--from head to foot.

"Sit down here," called Mrs. Scudaway readily, creating a general shift
of chairs. The two men hesitated a moment, nervousness apparent in
both, and then sat down quickly. The Englishman was next Mrs.
Scudaway. "What were you