“Yes, once for the space of two hours. We had all the excitement I cared for, though.”
Nancy sat up alertly.
“Was it a pilgrimage?”
“No; merely a pig on the track.”
She nestled back again in the depths of her chair.
“What anticlimax!” she protested.
“But you haven’t told me what form your own excitement took,” Brock reminded her.
“It was an Englishman.”
“Oh, we’re used to those things,” he answered.
“Then I pity you,” she said, with an explosiveness of which she was swift to repent. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she added contritely. “Perhaps you are one of them, yourself.”