"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." "Your cigarette is burning splendidly," hinted Diane coolly, "and you've a match in your hand." For a tense, magnetic instant the keen blue eyes flashed a curious message of pleading and apology, then the aviator fell to whistling softly, struck the match and finding no immediate function for it, dropped it in the water.
"I don't in the least mind floating about," he stammered, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter, "and possibly I'll make shore directly; but Lord love us! don't send the sharp-shooteress--please! Better abandon me to my fate." Slim and straight as the silver birches by the water, Diane hurried away up the lake-path.
"The young man," she flashed with a stamp of her foot, "is a very great fool." "Johnny," she said a little later to a little, bewhiskered man with cheeks like hard red winter apples, "there's a sociable, happy-go-lucky young man perched on an aeroplane in the middle of our lake.

Better take a rope and rescue him.