“She is adorable.”
Gently he took the watch from her hand and looked steadily at the picture, a picture of a round girlish face set as proudly as Brock’s own upon its shapely shoulders.
“Yes,” he assented slowly. “Better than that, she is good.”
There was no mistaking the gladness in Nancy’s tone, as she responded,—
“I think I was never more delighted in all my life. You were good to tell me, first of all.”
“I wanted to,” Brock replied, with boyish eagerness. “We’ve been such good chums, all this last month, that I was sure you would be interested. I want you to meet her. We weren’t going to announce it just yet; but I coaxed her to hurry it up a little, so I could bring her to call on you, before you go home.”
Nancy still held the picture in her hand.
“Is she really as pretty as this?” she asked.
“Why,—yes, I suppose so. I used to think so. Lately, I haven’t thought much about her looks, one way or the other,” he confessed. “She always seems to me about right, and she knows things, too. Really, Miss Howard,” as he spoke, he faced Nancy, with his eyes shining; “really, I’m in great luck. It isn’t every day that a girl of her sort falls in love with a fellow like me.”
There was no hint of coquetry in Nancy’s manner. With a frankness his own sister might have shown, she held out her hand in token of congratulation.