“I don’t know. The last I remember beforehand, I was standing on the steps of Sainte Anne, watching a pilgrimage getting itself blessed. The next I knew, I was lying on my back on the ground, with my ankle twisted into a knot, and my future nurse taking full possession of my case. That was your namesake, Miss Howard.”
“Indeed. Was—was she—pretty?” Nancy inquired, not quite certain what she was expected to say next.
“I never knew. My glasses were lost in the scrimmage, and I can’t see ten inches from my nose without them. I couldn’t very well ask her to come forward and be inspected at any such range as that. I was sorry, too. The girl really took very good care of me, and I grew quite fond of her. Behind her back, I used to call her my Good Sainte Anne. She was Nancy, you know.”
Nancy’s magazine slid to the floor.
“Did she know it?” she asked, smiling a little at her awkward efforts to reach the book.
“Allow me,” Barth said gravely. “No; I am not sure that she did.”
“When you meet her, next time, you can tell her,” Nancy advised him.
Barth shook his head.
“I am afraid I never shall meet her.”
“The world is very tiny,” Nancy observed sententiously. “As a rule, the same person is bound to cross one’s trail twice.”