Nancy lifted a protesting hand that Barry promptly imprisoned in both of his own.
"Oh, Peter, don't repeat all that—silly stuff—I said."
"Didn't you mean it, Nancy?" Barry cried.
"I meant it—then. But that was—young." Barry could not know that she was using the master's words. "I know—I think—that—that——"
"What, Nancy?"
Nancy looked wildly around. She wanted to run away, but Barry Wallace was holding her hand very tight.
"That—I'll work better if—that—oh, I'm just glad you came back," and Nancy could not have said anything more, for her face was smothered against Barry's shoulder.
After a little, Barry had to hear all about the rejected manuscript, the master's letter and the redemption of the Hopworth's. There in the sun-lit orchard a golden world seemed to stretch around them.
"How foolish we used to be," laughed Nancy, with a rapturous sigh. "I never doubted but that my first play was going to make my fortune."
"And I, after facing death in every one of its worst forms, ran away from a pack of fussy women," added Barry.