Experience had taught Nancy what to expect when Barth fell to fumbling about the front of his waistcoat. Nevertheless, even she blushed at the prolonged stare which was too full of interest to be impertinent. Then, without a glance at the others, Barth let the glasses fall back again.
“Oh, rather!” he answered, with unwonted fervor.
The Lady laughed.
“Is that the best you can say of us, Mr. Barth?” she inquired.
“Rather is Barth’s strongest superlative,” Brock commented. “Well, are we ready?”
The Lady rose with some reluctance. During the few days of his imprisonment, she had been brought into closer contact with Barth. She had watched him keenly, and she had come to the conclusion that, underneath all his haughty indifference, the young Englishman was lonely, homesick and altogether likable.
“It is really too bad to turn you out, Mr. Barth,” she said kindly. “Won’t you stay here and read? It is more cosy here, and you can be quite by yourself.”
The friendly words touched Barth and, for an instant, he lost his poise. A sudden note of dejection crept into his voice, as he answered,—
“I seem to accomplish that end, wherever I go.”
Brock was already leading the way to the door, and Nancy was gathering up her long skirt. It was St. Jacques who lingered.