The new softness in her words made him look at her wistfully for a second but the hint of laughter that went with it made him cautious. This lovely, laughing girl had hurt him several times and had laughed at him. He meant to be careful. So he said gravely and politely:
"Did you see the pictures of my mother?"
"Yes. She must have been a wonderful and an adorable mother."
That made him happy. He wanted very much to turn and walk back with her, this girl whose presence always brought him such pleasure. But she had forbidden him to do this. It seemed that in his home land women were wonderfully independent creatures.
So he let her go on alone and with a disappointed heart. For Nanny had hoped that he would ask and she had meant to let him. With the disappointment came the taunting memory of her words to Grandma Wentworth: "Honesty is best. A dozen words would do it."
That evening when her father clumsily tried to make amends Nan said carelessly:
"Never mind, Dad. I am in love—with a little boy and his pet hen."
But she had the grace to blush. And that night as she slipped the picture under her pillow she said a little defiantly:
"Well—what of it? All is fair in love and war."