“Do I?” and the friends went off into peals of laughter just as Mrs. McLean ushered herself into the firelit room.
“The door was open so I came right in,” announced that dear woman. She caught Nance’s hands in a strong grasp and drew the girl towards her. “I am glad to see you, my dear,” she said simply. Her well-remembered Scotch accent fell pleasingly on Nance’s ear.
“The violets were lovely. I thank you so much,” faltered Nance.
Molly wondered at the embarrassment of her friend. She had longed to talk to Nance about Andy McLean but did not know how to begin. She shrank from prying into her guest’s affairs, but the eternal feminine in her was on the alert for the romance she had no doubt was there.
“And now I must tell you all about Andy,” said his fond mother. “I know you want to hear about him,—eh?”
“Indeed we do,” put in Molly quickly, while Nance tried to go on with her knitting, but I am afraid dropped more stitches than she picked up.
“He has resigned from the hospital staff in New York where he was doing so splendidly and is to go to France as an ambulance surgeon.”
“Oh!” came involuntarily from Nance.
“Splendid!” cried Molly.
“It is what he should do,” declared his Spartan mother. “His father and I would not have it otherwise. Of course, the States will be at war before the month is out and Andy might wait and enlist with his own country, but in the meantime he is needed, and sadly needed, by my country, mine and his father’s.”