Her breath coming quickly and her lower lip caught between her teeth, Nancy stood leaning against the rail, looking out across the Plains. So absorbed was she in her day-dream of the past that she paid no heed to a cab which halted at her side.
“Oh, Miss Howard?”
Starting abruptly, she turned to face Barth. Tired of his solitary drive, the young fellow’s eyes were smiling down into the familiar face as, hat in hand, he bent forward in eager greeting.
Nancy’s day-dream vanished like a broken Prince Rupert’s drop.
“Good morning, Mr. Barth,” she said grimly.
“It is a jolly sort of morning; isn’t it? You are paying homage to my countryman?” he inquired.
The allusion was unfortunate. It recalled his last words to Nancy, and she grew yet more grim.
“Brave gentlemen belong to no country,” she answered, with what seemed to her a swift burst of eloquence.
Barth laughed.
“Poor beggars! Must they all be expatriated? If that’s the case, it’s better to be whimpering over a sprained ankle than to die victorious on the Plains of Abraham.”