“And when will that be?”
“He says it is impossible for him to tell. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps?” Nancy echoed questioningly.
“Perhaps—never.”
There was no answer for a moment. Then Nancy’s glove tore itself across with the strain of her clenched fingers.
“Oh, I could kill the man who struck that blow!” she burst out. Then her head went down on the crowned monogram, and the silence dropped again.
At length, Nancy raised her head.
“Shall we walk on?” she asked, as steadily as she could. “It is very cold here, all at once.”
Side by side, they turned the corner to the westward, and came into comparative shelter.
“How long have you known it?” she said, as soon as she could speak quietly.