“Just as well. It makes people suspicious of your past habits, if you rush too violently into church-going.”
“But twice isn’t too violently.”
“Two is too,” he retorted. “Besides, St. Jacques asked me to ask you if he might be formally introduced, to-night.”
Nancy’s face brightened, and her voice lost the little sharp edge it had taken on with her reference to her encounter with Barth.
“Of course. Both on account of his courtesy to me, and of your characterization of him, I shall be delighted to meet him. Where is he?”
Over in his corner by the window, Barth glanced up from his book. Voices rarely made any impression upon him; but something in Nancy’s tone caught his fancy, reminded him, too, of an indefinite something in his past. With calm deliberation, he fumbled about for the string of his glasses, put them on and favored Nancy with a second scrutiny, critical and prolonged. The girl’s cheeks reddened under his gaze, and instinctively she turned to Brock for protection; but Brock had gone in search of his friend. From across the room, one rose from a group of women and came to Nancy’s rescue.
“Mr. Barth?” she said interrogatively, in her pretty broken French. “I think it is Mr. Cecil Barth; is it not? My friend, Mrs. Vivian, has written to me about you. I believe you brought a letter, introducing yourself to her.”
Instantly, though a little stiffly, Barth rose to his feet. This acquaintance, at least, could show its proper credentials.
“And have you met Miss Howard?” she continued, after a moment’s talk. “Miss Howard, like yourself, is a stranger among us. Perhaps she will allow me to introduce Mr. Cecil Barth.”
“Howard appears to be rather a common name, here in Canada,” Barth observed.