“Tell me what?”
“About the way we first met. I sprained my ankle, and Miss Howard turned into a hired nurse, and took care of me.”
Churchill’s eyes sought Nancy’s scarlet face.
“The deuce she did! Where was this party?”
“This—?”
“This party?”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t a party at all. I was entirely by myself. I have sometimes wondered how she ever chanced to find me in all that crowd.”
“Probably the Good Sainte Anne guided her unworthy namesake,” Nancy responded lightly. “That was where the tragedy occurred.”
“Oh!” Beside Barth’s oh, that of Churchill seemed needlessly crisp and curt. “But I thought you were bored to death at Sainte Anne-de-Beaupré, Nancy.”
“That was only at first. Later, events happened.”