“I wish I might,” the girl assented idly.
The next minute, she felt herself blushing, as she met the eager look on the face of her companion, and she hurried away from the dangerous subject.
“How long shall you be abroad?” she asked hastily.
“Two years.”
“Nearly five years before you go into your professional work.”
“Yes.” His accent dropped a little. “It is long to wait.”
“It depends on the way the time goes,” Nancy suggested, with a fresh determination to drive the minor key from his voice. “Between banquets and lacrosse matches and broken heads, your days ought not to drag. Was it really so bad a bump you had?”
Pushing his cap still farther to the back of his head, St. Jacques lifted the dark hair from his forehead.
“So much,” he said coolly, as he displayed a short, deep cut.
Nancy exclaimed in horror.