"I saw you fly, you know," she said, when they had finished laughing. "I
went to Nice on purpose--that is, nearly on purpose. I combined it with
buying a dress, a perfectly sweet Paris dress, which I shall try to wear
with a slight English accent, so as not to be too smart for a
well-regulated sheep-dog. Every one declared the honours of the aviation
week were yours, with that wonderful _Flying Fish_. I wouldn't have
believed a machine made by man could do such weird things, if I hadn't
heard all about the Glenn Curtiss experiments and successes with the
_Triad_ at home. I was proud of you. Except that man who tested the
Della Robbia parachute, you were quite the most distinguished thing in
the air, although it was really crowded--all sorts of quaint creatures
giving you their airwash. I want to have a Skye terrier now, and name
him after you. St. George was going to give me a dachshund, but they do
look so bored to tears, I think it would depress me having one about.
And, besides, I draw the line at an animal which can't know whether its
ancestors were lizards or dogs."
"Look here, Rosie," Dick began when she paused, with an introspective
look which told her that he had not heard a word she said, "there's
something I want you to do for me."
"It won't be the first time," she replied pertly. "I 'spect I'll like to
do it. But if it's anything important, better begin now, for some of my
own specially collected sheep will be drifting in to tea."
"Sheep at tea! A new subject for an artist," mumbled Carleton.
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