"Why, indeed?" murmured Alma, wickedly. "The truth is, Uncle Thomas that he is madly in love with me. He sent me all these flowers, and, measles or no measles, he has been serenading me every night; hasn't he, Miss Tracy?"
"Alma! You ridiculous creature," cried Mrs. Prescott, joining in the laugh at this nonsense. Uncle Thomas looked amused but puzzled, hardly certain whether to believe there was an element of truth in this rigmarole or not. He glanced from Mrs. Prescott to Alma, to Nancy, and there he paused. He was a good enough reader of faces to know now where the wind lay, and his eyes grew sober.
"Well, my dear little niece, you're pretty young," he said gently, "but one is never too young to be happy. What do you think, Lallie?"
Mrs. Prescott smiled, although there were tears in her eyes, and said:
"Ask Nancy, Uncle Thomas."
"Well, Nancy?"
Nancy tried to laugh, as she took her mother's hand and Alma's, and faltered again:
"I—I don't know."
But here we, who can see into the minds of all these people, have no hesitation about saying in just so many words, that she did know very well; only she didn't know that she knew.
*****