While Peter was carefully tucking her into the seat with much lamenting that it had gotten so wet, Nancy was staring reflectively at the funny little weather-beaten cottage. From the door smiled the two sisters.
"I wish," she said, "that I could take a piece of their philosophy back to Happy House!" She leaned out to wave her hand once more. "Hasn't it been fun? I'm glad now that it stormed."
As they splashed along toward Freedom, Nancy fell into a sudden quiet. Her mind was held by an overwhelming desire to tell Peter, in this last hour she might have alone with him, the whole truth—that she, like the two sisters they had left, was not a real Leavitt, of that day back in college, of Anne's pleading and her yielding. Twice she opened her lips to speak, then shut them quickly. There was something in Peter's strong profile that made her afraid. Once he turned quickly and saw her eyes upon him with a frightened, troubled expression in their depths.
"What is it, Nancy?" he asked tenderly.
She couldn't tell him—she could not bear to see his face when he knew the truth! She tried to speak lightly.
"I was thinking how much I'd grown to like—things—around here and how I hate to—go away. Peter, will you keep Nonie and Davy doing happy things—like other children. And, Peter—do you hate people that—act lies?"
Peter laughed—Nancy was so deliciously child-like. Then he suddenly colored to the very roots of his hair.
"Generally—I haven't much use for people that can't stick pretty well to the truth. But when there may be some reason—someone may start doing it for someone else——" he stopped abruptly. Nancy stared ahead with startled eyes. Did he know? But, no, how could he! It had only been an accident that he had so nearly hit upon the truth.
She could not tell him—she need not tell him; in a few days she would say good-by and go away and never see him again! Theirs had been a pleasant friendship, for awhile she would miss it, but she'd be just plain Nancy Leavitt again, playing with Claire at Merrycliffe or with Daddy somewhere in the mountains or at the seashore, working, too—beginning life. After a while these weeks at Happy House would seem a curious memory—a dream!
Suddenly she shivered.