And, in that instant, Nancy forgave the existence of the golden guinea, still reposing among her superfluous hairpins.
“Not always,” she assented. “Still, if you were to tell your Nancy Howard what you have just told me, I think she would understand.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t do that,” Barth protested.
“I don’t see why not. Very likely she is no more formidable than I am. Anyway, I advise you to try.”
As she stood smiling down at him, there came a click, and the dusky library was flooded with the blaze from a dozen electric bulbs. They both winced at the unexpected glare; then Nancy’s eyes and Barth’s glasses met in a steady gaze. His face was earnest; hers merry and altogether winsome. Suddenly she held out her hand.
“Good by, Mr. Barth,” she said kindly. “I am glad you have told me about this.”
He rose to his feet.
“You are going? May I walk back with you?”
“Thank you so much for offering. It would be a pleasure; but Mr. Brock is waiting outside to take me for a turn on the terrace.”
And, the next instant, Barth was left alone with the librarian.