And to-day reminded her of that long-ago circus day, with even more animals to look at! She had never seen as many different animals as she wanted to see, until now. She admitted that she sort of loved wild things—she even liked the wild smell of 'em. There was something in here—she touched her breast lightly—that felt kin to them.
There was not the usual horde of visitors, that day being a pay-day. A bearded man with a crutch was showing one or two visitors around, and at a word from him a keeper unlocked a cage door, to allow a young chimpanzee to leap into his arms. It hugged him, exhibiting extravagant affection; it thrust out its absurd muzzle to kiss his cheek, and patted him with its small, leathery, unpleasantly human hands.
"It's just like any other baby," said the keeper, petting it.
"I sure hope it ain't like any I'll ever have," said Nancy, so naïvely that the man with the crutch laughed. He looked at her keenly.
"Go over and see the baby lion," he suggested; and he added, smiling, "It's got red hair."
"It can afford to have red hair, so long as it's a lion," said Nancy, sturdily; and she added, reflectively: "I'd any day rather have me a lion-child with red hair, than a monkey-child with any kind of hair."
Somehow that blunt comment pleased Mr. Champneys. When he took his charge back to their hotel that evening, it was with something like a glimmering of real hope in his heart.
The next day, as he joined her at lunch, he said casually:
"I had a message from my nephew this morning. He will be here in a few days."
She turned pale; the hand that held her fork began to tremble.