"I wonder," gulped Glenn, presently, "if you know just how happy I am."
Nancy said demurely that she didn't know; but if he was happy she was glad: it must be very nice to be happy!
"Aren't you happy?" he ventured.
Nancy turned pink by way of answer. As a matter of fact, she was nearer being happy then than she had ever been. They fell into an intimate conversation—that is, Glenn talked, and the girl listened. He explained his hopes, ambitions, prospects. He talked eagerly and impetuously. He wished her to understand him, to know all about him,—what he was, what he hoped to be. A boy in love is like that.
In return for this confidence Nancy explained that she hated oatmeal, and Hannah More; some of these days she meant to buy every copy of Hannah More she could lay her hands on, and burn them. Of herself, her past, she said nothing.
"And so you're going to be a doctor!" she turned the conversation back to him, as being much more interesting.
"Yes. Or rather, I'm going to be a great surgeon." And then he asked, smilingly:
"And you—what do you want to be?"
"I want to be happy," said Nancy, half fiercely.
"There isn't any reason why you shouldn't be—a girl like you."