It lacked two hours of midnight when an aeroplane crossed the Channel.
With his feet automatically guiding the rudder and his eyes keeping
incessant watch on his compass and the pulsating lights of landing
points showing like lighthouses at sea, the Black Cat brought all his
conscious mind to bear on the events of the day.
In the whim of the moment, when the rain was on the roof, he had
suggested this adventure to the little girl of the lonely mill-house;
and for one day London had been hers. He had carried out his plan. Her
countless comments, some childish, some strangely mature, were evidence
enough of her enjoyment. Then why, he questioned, was he experiencing a
dull feeling of depression, as the shadows beneath showed that once
more they were over France? To-morrow he would have the zest of battle;
again he would lead his squadron in the greatest sport of the ages....
Then why this heaviness of spirit?
His mind relapsed into a musing mood that got him no further in his
introspective analysis; and his eyes, which had always been a reliable
pair, commenced playing odd tricks with him. Though in the daytime he
was used to seeing the earth and the horizon, and thus establishing his
estimate of distance, he was relying that night almost entirely on his
sense of equilibrium, glancing only occasionally at the instruments
which would tell him if he were not flying level.
It was the compass that first surprised him.
He was studying its sensitive needle when he noted with some
astonishment that the dial had taken on the addition of two dark and
most expressive eyes, which proceeded to surround themselves with the
delicate features of a girl's face, possessed of a brow that was
spiritually white, and dark hair that melted into the blackness of the
night.
He shook his head and sought a light on the ground, which, after the
manner of "Winking Willies," was showing long and short flashes like
Morse. To his amazement, the light became a smile, which gradually
developed into a most alluring female face. If he had been in
possession of his usual sense of the humorous, he would have recalled
that Lewis Carroll's cat appeared to Alice in much the same way; but
his mind and body were both in the clouds, a realm where cats and humor
are uninvited guests.
He next tried a star, which underwent the same evolution. Even the moon
was not proof against the phenomenon. Once he half-closed his eyes, but
that was worse than ever. Everywhere he looked, there was the same
face--smiling, pouting, coquetting, sympathizing, commiserating.
He tried whistling, but it offered no relief.
Behind him, nearly asleep, Pippa sat with closed eyes. To her the
solution was much more simple. All day she had had her Prince by her
side, her arm in his, her fingers locked with his. Therefore she was
happy; also she was tired.
Not having any tiresome masculine mental gyrations to perform in
discovering a truth that was so easily apparent, she accepted the
situation with sentimental nonchalance, and falling asleep, dreamed
that the statue of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens had changed to that
of the Airy Prince (who, she thought, was ever so much more handsome),
and that she was sitting on the grass admiring him, while rabbits
played about his feet. She was awakened from this delightful dream by a
sensation similar to that of falling off a ladder in one's sleep; but
such is the penalty of those who travel at night by air.
And, applying the laws of logic to the case, when a young gentleman
sees dark eyes and curved lips in a compass, and a young woman dreams
that the citizens of London have erected a monument to a young
gentleman with a long face and glow-worm eyebrows, it is reasonable to
suppose that they have fallen in love with each other.
But strange things happen in the month of April.