Her eyes were black as sloes, and
flashed like smoldering fires. A great mass of hair of the same color was
piled on the top of her head in grown-up fashion, and her gown, of a
magenta hue, which set off her dark beauty to perfection, was cut in the
most recent--too recent, in fact--style.
"Can you direct me to Mr. Mortlake's aeroplane factory?" she demanded in
an imperious tone. Evidently the flushed, healthy-looking young people,
who had been playing tennis so hard, were very despicable in her eyes.
"There it is, down the road there," volunteered Roy. "It's that barn-like
place."
The appellation was unfortunate. The girl's eyes flashed angrily.
"My name is Regina Mortlake," she said angrily. "I am Mr. Mortlake's
daughter. He is not in the habit of putting up barns, I can assure you."
"I beg your pardon----" began Roy, quite taken aback by the extraordinary
energy with which the reproof to his harmless remark had been given. But
the dark-eyed beauty in the automobile had given a quick order to the
chauffeur, and the car skimmed on down the road.
Later that day the _Silver Cobweb_ ascended for a flight. It had nothing
more the matter with it on the day of the break-down than the heated
cylinders, which, as Mortlake had prophesied, soon cooled. But Mortlake
himself did not take up the silvery aeroplane on this occasion.
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