her—but only of concern for this blue-eyed, light-haired, warm, ardent girl from among his own people.
"I don't know what else you're doing, Cynthia Gail," he said both names as he had that time he had carried her, "but I suppose it's dangerous. That's all right," he added hastily, "if the danger's necessary; if it's not—well, it's foolishness, you know. I wouldn't ask you to stop doing anything which could catch us another haul like De Trevenac; but that may be more than a deadly game." He held out his hand to her and, when she placed hers in his, he held her fingers firmly. "Don't be foolish, please!"
"Don't you!" she pleaded to him in return; and the sudden broaching of the passion which had been below astounded her as much as it dumfounded him. "You take no regard for yourself—none, none at all!"
"That's—newspaper nonsense," he managed. He released her hand, but her grasp held him now and he could not break it except violently.
"It's not! I've talked to men who know you, who've flown with you! They all say the same thing; and they all love you for it; you've no regard for yourself, numbers against you or anything when you've something you've determined to do! You do it! Oh, I wouldn't have you not—I wouldn't want you different. But the same need now doesn't exist!"
Her fingers had slipped from him and they stood back a bit, both breathing hard and very flushed as they faced each other.
"We're outnumbered in France this spring as never before," he informed her soberly. "It's not generally—
