"I 've been busy."
"How oddly you speak! Is your throat sore?"
"Don't tease, Nan. I'm not up to it." It was no use trying to look unconcerned.
Nancy saw, and took pity on him, as she might not have done if he had been upon his feet. "It's Olive, then--though I believe I could have made you think it was Shirley. It's not Brant Hille's fault that it is n't, I can tell you that. Olive's going to marry an Englishman she met last summer abroad--Mr. Arthur Crewe of Manchester. It's just announced. The wedding 's to be the first of July. You 'll be on crutches, Peter. Is n't that lucky? You can go."
"Oh, yes, I 'll dance at the wedding!" agreed Peter, looking as if the shot that missed him had come uncomfortably close.
"It's going to be a big wedding--a gorgeous one. Is n't that like Olive? Shirley's to be maid of honour, and there 'll be six bridesmaids. Six ushers--and you 'd have been one if you had n't broken your leg. Olive told me so."
"Compensation in all things," murmured Peter.
"The best man is the Englishman's brother. Olive says he 's stunning. Would n't it be funny if he and Shirley should take a fancy to each other? The maid of honour and the best man often do, you know."
"Very interesting. I should say you had been taking a course of novels, you 're so full of possible plots." And Peter eyed his newspaper as if he preferred its practical columns to his sister's outlines of sentimental situations. Nancy laughed.
"Shirley's to have a vacation, for a week before the wedding. Perhaps she 'll find time to get over to see you oftener, then."