“Only till my father has ransacked every book in your Laval library,” she said, with intentional lightness.
He declined to answer her tone. The words of his reply dropped, clear, distinct, slow, upon her ears.
“No matter. Perhaps some day you may come back to Canada, Miss Howard, come back, I mean, to stay.”
Nancy drew two or three short, quick breaths. Then she laughed with a forced mirth.
“Perhaps. One can never tell. I like Canada,” she said nervously.
St. Jacques faced her.
“And the Canadians?” he asked steadily.
His dark eyes held hers for a moment. Then she found herself repeating his words,—
“Yes, and the Canadians.”
A moment later, she gave a sudden start of surprise and relief. Rounding a sharp angle in the winding street, they had found themselves directly upon the heels of Mr. Cecil Barth who was sauntering slowly along just ahead of them. Turning at the sound of their feet on the board roadway, he bowed to Nancy with deprecating courtesy, to her companion with studied carelessness.