“I think perhaps I can tell you something,” replied Miss Lowndes, smiling up into the frank blue eyes. “Was it some particular family you wanted to inquire about?”
“Well, yes—” he began, but was interrupted by the arrival of his captain who had a dozen things to ask about. Taking the first opportunity to say he would come in again, the young man saluted, and strode off down the street. Midway to the church he came face to face with a slender, brown-eyed girl behind whom trotted a small dog who once in a while favored one of his hind legs. “By Jove, that girl’s face looks familiar,” said the man aloud. “I know I have seen her before, but where?”
Lucie looked up and smiled. It might not be the thing to do, but he was an American and she felt kindly toward every one of them.
The smile was encouragement enough for the young man to take off his cap and say: “I beg your pardon, but haven’t we met before?” Then he gave an impatient gesture. “Bother,” he exclaimed, “of course she doesn’t speak English. Pardon, mademoiselle, mais-mais.” He paused helplessly.
Lucie smiled again. “Pardon me, monsieur, but I do speak English.”
“Good! I was sure we must have met, but I cannot remember where.”
“Nor I, monsieur.” She studied his face carefully, “and yet, and yet I seem to have seen you.”
“My name is Philip Randolph, from Virginia.”
“And I am Lucie Du Bois, a native of this place.”
“Not Lucie Du Bois, the daughter of Louise and Marcel Du Bois?”