“I am not so sure of that,” she answered, with a smile.
Then the pause lengthened. Brock’s thoughts were far afield; Nancy’s were fixed upon the man at her side. In all sincerity, she did rejoice at his unexpected tidings. No sentimental regrets entered into her perfect content. Her friendship for Brock had been friendship pure and simple; on neither side had it ever been mingled with a thought of love. From chance playmates of an October holiday, they had grown into a loyal liking which was to outlast many a dividing year and mile. And Brock deserved all good things, even the love of this dainty bit of girlhood whose eyes smiled bravely back into her own.
“Tell me all about it,” she said at last.
Brock roused himself from his reverie.
“There’s not so much to tell. I’ve known her always; we’ve always been good friends, but, last summer at Cacouna, it was—different.”
Nancy smiled at the pause which added explanatory force to the last word.
“And was it then?”
“No; not till two or three weeks ago. You see, it took me a good while to get to where I dared speak about it.”
“And when—?”
Brock looked up suddenly.