“Oh,—yes. If I can,” Barth answered vaguely.
Then he had made a dejected exit. As he strolled languidly away to his room, he alternated between fears of a possible relapse in his ankle, and mutinous thoughts regarding the hero of Valley Forge.
“Beastly race, those American men!” was the finale of his reflections. “Oh, rather!”
Now, however, his dejection vanished in the face of the sunshiny morning and of Nancy’s greeting.
“Won’t I be in the way?” he asked.
“Why should you?”
“I can’t walk much, you know.”
“But I thought Englishmen were famous for their walking,” Churchill said, as he greeted the young Englishman much as a genial mastiff might salute a youthful pug.
Barth glanced towards Nancy with a confident smile.
“Didn’t Miss Howard tell you?” he asked.