anyway?” a reporter asked me. “What does she do? What does she say? You know to the world she is a woman of mystery.”
Under the circumstances I could tell him nothing. But there are no secrets about her—just natural reticences. Mrs. Lindbergh is an unusual person but not mysterious. She does what she wishes. She reads, writes, and drives her own car. She slips out of the house when she pleases and goes where she pleases. I do not know what games, if any, she likes or what sports.
“Do you really like to fly?”
“What actually are the sensations of flying?”
Those two questions are most often asked Mrs. Lindbergh—mostly by other women. That second query, of course, is asked of all who are associated with aviation in any capacity. As to the first, I think it will surprise many to know that even before she met Colonel Lindbergh, Anne Morrow was enough interested in flying to have decided she would herself learn to handle an airplane sometime.
Mrs. Lindbergh once said substantially this to me in California. She was quiet, sincere, simply making a statement to another woman who, like her self, travels mostly by air. In speaking of her own flying, she was careful to make her attitude clear. It was not to be her business, but she felt that any woman who took it up professionally could find in it the greatest interest and enjoyment.
She went on to outline what one might call “the philosophy of flying” of one who is undoubtedly to-
