“Otherwise, why do you carry a pocket edition of Sainte Anne-de-Beaupré?”
“How do you know I do?”
“Because it fell out on the floor just now, when I upset your coat. It is a very superior little Sainte Anne, made of silver.”
This time, Nancy had the grace to blush. Only the day before, she had come into possession of the dainty toy.
“That’s not superstition,” she answered; “it is merely an effigy of my patron saint.”
Brock nodded.
“For the name? I suspect I could tell who chose it.”
Again Nancy’s brows rose inquiringly.
“If you like,” she said composedly.
“Barth, of course.”