“Well, Peggy!” gasped Jess, her dark eyes peering from under her waterproof hood, as she and her brother arrived at the threshold of the farm-house, “what on earth does this mean?”

“Yes, give an account of yourself at once,” demanded Jimsy.  “Roy had us on the phone.  Asked if you’d flown in our direction.  We said no, but we’d take a flight and look for you.  In our enthusiasm, we didn’t notice the storm coming up.  But luckily, being young persons of forethought, we had oilskins in a locker of the machine, and——­”

“And here we are,” finished Jess, shooting a “killing” glance from under her hood at the good-looking young man at Peggy’s side.

“Aren’t you going to ask us in?” demanded Jimsy the next minute.  “For hospitality, I don’t think you rate very high.  We——­”

“Well, you see, we are here ourselves without knowing if we have any right to be,” rejoined Peggy.  “But come in and I’ll explain.  First of all, I want you to meet Mr. Bradbury of the United States Navy.  He came to test the Prescott aeroplanes.  Mr. Bradbury, this is Miss Bancroft, and her brother——­”

“Jimsy,” put in that irrepressible youth.  “Glad to meet you, sir.  Almost as much at sea here as in mid-Atlantic.”

Laughing, they all entered the farm-house kitchen, while Peggy hastily explained the state of affairs there.

“Well, so long as they don’t put in an appearance before we get dry, I’m sure I don’t care,” said Jimsy airily.  “What a delightful old kitchen.  It might have come out of a picture book.”

He and the naval officer were soon deep in conversation, leaving Peggy and Jess alone.

“My dear Peggy,” exclaimed Jess, with a smile that showed all her white even teeth, “what will you do next?  Don’t you think it’s a bit—­er—­er—­unconventional for one of the foremost members of Sandy Beach’s younger set to be flying about the country with a good-looking young naval officer?”

“Nonsense,” retorted Peggy sharply, “as the only representative of the Prescott aeroplanes on the ground, I had to do it.  If it hadn’t been for this old storm, I’d have been home long ago.”

“So should we.  What a coincidence we should have met here.  Is this—­this——­”

“Lieutenant,” prompted Peggy.

“Is this lieutenant going to stay long in Sandy Beach?”

“Dear me, no.  He is only on a flying visit—­no pun intended.  He was to have taken in the establishment of the Mortlake Aeroplane Company this afternoon.  You know, they are in that red, barn-like place, down the road from our place, although Roy and I only found it out to-day.”

“That was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Peggy dear,” said Jess, sinking into an old-fashioned Andrew Jackson chair by the hearth.  “Dad said at dinner last night that he had heard in New York that a lot of their stock had been floated on Wall Street, and that that hateful old Mr. Harding was back of it.”