But Nancy had temporarily lost all power of speech. She was not sure, indeed, that she wasn't dreaming—it was all so utterly strange, and whimsical, and impossible, that surely it could be so only in a dream. For the young man who had followed the pawnbroker out of the inner room was George Arnold! She was standing with her back to the door, but the light that came through the dirty glass shone squarely on his face, so that if she had not already recognized his voice she would have recognized his features beyond the shadow of a doubt. Her first impulse was to turn and fly, or to conceal herself hastily in one of the odd little sentry boxes, which were evidently designed to preserve the incognito of the pawnbroker's indigent customers. But already Mr. Arnold had cast a second curious glance at the unusual sight of a well-dressed, well-bred young girl in such surroundings, and with that second glance he had recognized her. His mouth opened slightly in a repressed gasp of astonishment. Probably, with a moment's thought, he might have pretended that he had not recognized her, in order to spare her any embarrassment, but he had already exclaimed, involuntarily:
"Why, Miss Prescott!" and had taken a step toward her. Nancy turned scarlet, and could only gaze at him helplessly.
"How can I serve you, young lady?" repeated the shopkeeper. Nancy hesitated, in a perfect agony of embarrassment, while Mr. Arnold continued to look at her, evidently very much at a loss. On the one hand, he disliked to discomfit her by being present while she transacted her business with old Zeigler, the pawnbroker, and on the other, he was equally unwilling to leave her to be swindled, as she very probably would be. Furthermore, while he realized that he had no business to inquire into her affairs, and that, to say the least, it would be the height of bad taste to do so, nevertheless he felt that she was in some difficulty and needed advice. The squalid little shop was an odd place in which to find the niece of old Thomas Prescott; for it was not likely that she had come there as he had, to browse around in a dilettante search for curios.
Nancy read the question, "What are you here for?" in his face, and guessed his indecision. On her part she wished fervently that he would go, and was racking her brains for some excuse to leave the shop and to come back later. But her frantic efforts at evolving some plan of escape within the space of fifteen seconds were fruitless. Zeigler for the third time repeated his question to her with a touch of impatience. Then Mr. Arnold desperately took the bull by the horns, and with a touch of pretended gaiety asked with a laugh:
"Are you in search of adventure? You aren't running away from school, are you?"
"No—that is——" stammered Nancy; then, driven to take him into her confidence to some extent, and trying to put her situation in the light of a prank, she laughed mischievously, and added with an air of candor, "You've caught me."
"What are you up to, young lady? Selling the family plate?" inquired Mr. Arnold boldly, and speaking to her as if she were a mischievous youngster, though his eyes were grave and puzzled. Nancy put up her chin, as if she were being scolded, and answered with a touch of childish defiance: "Don't tell on me."
"Well, I won't—though you deserve it, ma'am," replied Mr. Arnold. "I won't—on one condition,—that you come with me, and 'fess up to all your misdemeanors, and let me give you the sage advice of a hardened sinner before you do anything rash. I realize that I'm taking a liberty, Miss Prescott, in concerning myself in what is strictly your own affair," he added seriously, "but isn't our friendship firmly enough established to allow me that privilege? What time is it?" He glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes past two, and I've had no luncheon. Have you?" Nancy admitted that she hadn't.
"Good. I can't begin to tell you how awfully lucky I consider myself in having met you, Miss Prescott. I wish you would come with me to some nice little restaurant where we can decide the affairs of the nations. Are you in a great hurry?"
Nancy said that she wasn't. To tell the truth she was very glad that Mr. Arnold had concerned himself in her affairs, which she had begun to believe she was not managing any too well. They had talked in low voices so that the shopkeeper could only have heard fragments of their conversation, and then left the shop, without even a word of explanation to the irritated old money-lender.