“Miss Howard?” Nancy glanced up, as St. Jacques appeared in the doorway with Brock at his side. At the farther end of the room, Barth also glanced up. The action was wholly involuntary, however, and Barth sought to disguise with a yawn his ill-timed manifestation of interest.
“You look as if you had something of importance to announce,” Nancy replied, as she rose and crossed the room to the door.
“So we have. What are you going to do, this evening?”
“That isn’t an announcement; it is a question,” she suggested.
St. Jacques laughed. Nancy always enjoyed the sudden lighting of his face. At rest, it was almost heavy in its dark, intent earnestness; at a chance word, it could turn mirthful as the face of a child, gentle with the sympathetic gentleness of a strong man. Just now, the rollicking child was uppermost.
“How can I tell the difference? I am not English,” he answered.
Nancy cocked the white of one eye towards the far corner of the room.
“Neither am I,” she said demurely.
Brock’s answer was enigmatic; but Nancy held the key.
“It is always possible to be grateful to Allah,” he said, low, but not so low as to keep the color from rising in Barth’s cheeks.
St. Jacques turned suddenly.
“Good evening, Mr. Barth. Is your ankle better?” he queried.
But Barth was as yet unable to make any distinctions in measuring out his displeasure.
“Thank you, Mr. St. Jacques,” he answered icily. “It is almost quite well.”
“O—oh. I am very glad,” St. Jacques responded, in such vague uncertainty as to how great a degree of gain might be represented by the almost quite that he entirely missed the note of hostility in Barth’s voice.
Again the white of Nancy’s eye moved towards the corner of the room, as Brock said,—
“But you haven’t answered St. Jacques’s question, Miss Howard.”
“I beg your pardon. I am not going to do anything, unless sitting in this room counts for something.”
“But it doesn’t.” Barth took an unexpected plunge into the conversation.
“Then what makes you do it?” Brock inquired.
His intention had been altogether hostile, for he had been irritated by the discourtesy shown to his friend. Nevertheless, his irritation gave place to good-tempered pity, as the young Englishman answered quietly,—
“Because there’s not so very much left that I can do. One doesn’t get much variety in a radius of half a mile a day.”
This time, Nancy turned around.
“Doesn’t that ligament grow strong yet?” she asked, in a wave of sympathy which swept her off her guard.
Then she blushed scarlet, for Barth was looking up at her in manifest astonishment. How could this impetuous young woman have discovered the fact that he owned a ligament? He had not considered it a fit subject for conversation. Was there no limit to the unexpected workings of the American mind?
“I didn’t know—Oh, it is better,” he answered.
Then in a flash the situation dawned upon Brock. He recalled Barth’s unexplained illness; he remembered Nancy’s story of the Englishman and his golden guinea. Back in the depths of his sinful brain he stored the episode, ready to be brought out for use, whenever the time should be ripe. And Nancy, looking into those clear gray eyes, knew that he knew; knew, too, that it would be useless to beg for mercy for the unsuspecting Britisher. Moreover, she was not altogether sure that she wished to beg for mercy.
“But really, have you any plan for this evening?” St. Jacques was urging.
Dismissing the others from her mind, Nancy smiled into the dark face which was almost on a level with her own.
“Nothing at all.”
“That is good. There is a little opera at the Auditorium, to-night; nothing great, but rather pretty. I saw it in Saint John, last year. Brock and I both thought—”
“What time is it now?” Nancy asked.
“About seven.”
Nancy reflected swiftly. Then she said,—
“Impromptu parties are always the best. Go and ask the Lady if she can come with us. If she will—”
But only Barth in his corner heard the ending of her sentence.
Half an hour later, Nancy came rustling softly down the stairway, her shining hair framed in the white fur ruff of her cloak. Two immaculate youths were pacing the hall; but Barth had disappeared. She found him sitting in the office beside the Lady. He rose, as Nancy appeared in the doorway.
“Don’t let me keep you,” he said regretfully. “You are going out?”
In his present mood of content, St. Jacques felt that he could afford to be gracious.
“Don’t we look it?” he asked boyishly.
Experience had taught Nancy what to expect when Barth fell to fumbling about the front of his waistcoat. Nevertheless, even she blushed at the prolonged stare which was too full of interest to be impertinent. Then, without a glance at the others, Barth let the glasses fall back again.
“Oh, rather!” he answered, with unwonted fervor.
The Lady laughed.
“Is that the best you can say of us, Mr. Barth?” she inquired.
“Rather is Barth’s strongest superlative,” Brock commented. “Well, are we ready?”
The Lady rose with some reluctance. During the few days of his imprisonment, she had been brought into closer contact with Barth. She had watched him keenly, and she had come to the conclusion that, underneath all his haughty indifference, the young Englishman was lonely, homesick and altogether likable.
“It is really too bad to turn you out, Mr. Barth,” she said kindly. “Won’t you stay here and read? It is more cosy here, and you can be quite by yourself.”
The friendly words touched Barth and, for an instant, he lost his poise. A sudden note of dejection crept into his voice, as he answered,—
“I seem to accomplish that end, wherever I go.”
Brock was already leading the way to the door, and Nancy was gathering up her long skirt. It was St. Jacques who lingered.
“Perhaps you would like to go with us,” he suggested.
“Oh, I—” Barth was beginning, when the Frenchman interrupted,—
“We shall be very glad to have you, and I can easily telephone for another seat. It is not a great opera; but it will be better than sitting alone in your room.”
The unexpected addition to their party was by no means to Nancy’s liking. Nevertheless, her eyes rested upon St. Jacques with full approval. The deed had been a gracious one, and Nancy felt that, with Brock and St. Jacques to help her, she could easily man?uvre Barth t............