“I’m an incurable optimist,” he lightly countered, “or I wouldn’t have tried to fly over a private lake in a borrowed aeroplane.”

“I believe,” said Diane disapprovingly, “that you were cutting giddy circles over the water and dipping and skimming, weren’t you?”

“I did cut a monkeyshine or two,” admitted the young man.  “I was having a devil of a time until you—­until the—­er—­catastrophe occurred.”

“And Miss Westfall, the owner,” murmured Diane with sympathy, “is addicted to firearms.  Hadn’t you heard?  She hunts!  The Westfalls are all very erratic and quick-tempered.  Didn’t you know she was at the farm?”

The young man looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Great guns, no!” he exclaimed.  “I presumed she was safe in New York. . . .  And this is her lake and her water and her waves, when there are any, and no matter how I engineer it, I’ve got to poach some of her property.  Some of it,” he added conversationally, “is in my shoe.  Lord, I am in a pickle!  Are you a guest of hers?”

“Yes,” said Diane calmly.

“I’m staying over yonder on the hill there with Dick Sherrill,” offered the young man cordially.  “They are opening their place with a party of men, some crack amateur aviators—­and myself.  Do you know the Sherrills?”

“Perhaps I do,” said Diane discouragingly.  “Why didn’t you float about and smoke on Mr. Sherrill’s lake?” she added curiously.  “It’s ever so much bigger than this.”

“Circumstances,” began the young man with dignity, and lighted another cigarette.  “My mechanician,” he added volubly, after an uncomfortable interval of silence, “is an exceedingly bold young man.  He’ll fly over anything, even a cow.  Isn’t really mine either; he’s borrowed, too.  Dick keeps a few extra mechanicians on hand, like extra cigars.  It’s Dick’s fault I’m out alone.  He lent my mechanician to another chap and nobody else would come with me.”

“I thought,” flashed Diane pointedly, “I thought your mechanician was somewhere in a tree.”

The aviator coughed and reddened uncomfortably.

“Doubtless he is,” he said lamely.  “He—­he most always is.  Do you know, he spends a large part of his spare time in trees—­and swamps—­and once, I believe, he was discovered in a chimney.  I—­I’d like to tell you more about him,” he went on affably.  “Once—­”

“Thank you,” said Diane politely, “but you’ve really entertained me more now than one could expect from a gentleman in your distressing plight.  Come, Rex.”  She turned back again at the hemlocks which flanked the forest path.  “I’ll ask Miss Westfall to send some men,” she added and halted.

For Diane had surprised a look of such keen regret in the young aviator’s face that they both colored hotly.

“Beastly luck!” stammered the young man lamely.  “I am disappointed.  I—­I don’t seem to have another match.”