Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

"To be sure, to be sure. Well, Mr. Wirt, you must come over and have a cup of tea. Do you like crumpets? I'll have some for you. Come along, Nancy. I hear that horn tooting out there at a great rate. Evidently our friend, Ernest Kirkby, is getting impatient."

"I will take Mr. Wirt back to his chair and then I will come," responded Anita.

Again, hand in hand, they went across the room. Terrence felt for the arms of the chair and settled back in it. Anita stood hovering over him, longing to touch his hair, to lay her hand upon his broad shoulder. "Before I go," she said presently, "I want to add my thanks to my aunt's, not only for what you have done on the field but for the proof of friendship you have shown in confiding in me. I want you to believe that I shall respect your confidence and that it is a matter between our two selves alone."

"I do believe that. Really I don't know why I should have told you, for it is not a thing I ever speak about, but somehow I felt impelled to, and your sweet consideration and sympathy are very comforting."

"Nancy, Nancy," came the call again, "aren't you ever coming?"

A hurried good-bye and she was gone. The young man sat there thinking, thinking. Nancy. Nancy. She was called that, and yet how could it be? The tones of her voice, her laugh, many little turns of expression, yet how could there be any connection between Nancy Loomis and Anita Beltrán? He tried in vain to imagine some situation which would explain it but failed utterly. "I'll ask Mrs. Teaness or one of her daughters, that nice pleasant one they say is so stout," he told himself.

Therefore the next time that Eleanor came in to render some slight service he said: "I wish you would tell me something about Mrs. Beltrán and her daughter. They have been so unutterably good to me that I feel interested in them beyond the ordinary."

"Mrs. Beltrán is an old friend of my mother's," Eleanor told him. "They were schoolmates in their young days, and when Mrs. Beltrán came back with Anita the friendship was resumed. Mrs. Beltrán is the daughter of a clergyman, and was born in the same place my mother was. She married a Spaniard. I believe it was not a very fortunate marriage. Mr. Beltrán died years ago. My mother never saw him, she tells us, for they lived in Mexico."

"I understand. Miss Anita was born there, I am told."

"Yes. Isn't she a dear? We are all so fond of her. She has a charm quite unlike any girl we know. I suppose it is the Spanish element. She looks very Spanish, too. Oh, you must get well by Christmas so as to see her dance. She is quite wonderful in her Spanish dances. You must not think of leaving us before Christmas, Mr. Wirt, for in spite of these grave times we want to make a cheerful day of it, and you must help us celebrate. When do you see Mr. Meredith again?"