"The church, the church?" inquired Colonel Peyton in whom lunch had induced certain symptoms of restfulness. "What church? Where is it?"
"I believe it's down in the village," answered Nancy innocently. "I could walk down and back before you are ready to start."
"I don't think you'd better," said the Colonel. "You'll probably meet some drunken tramp."
"Well, perhaps Mr. Leslie would walk down with me," suggested Nancy. "I do want to see the church frightfully. That was why I suggested Beechwood."
"I should be delighted to," said Leslie simply.
Colonel Peyton looked a little doubtful. The young man certainly seemed most respectful and well-mannered, but—but—well, well, after all, where was the harm. Having asked him to lunch, it would appear rather unkind to refuse his well-meant offer, especially as the suggestion had originally come from Nancy.
"Go along with you, then," said the Colonel good-naturedly. "But don't be late. We want to start back by three."
Side by side, Nancy and Leslie set off down the hill. For some little way Nancy was bubbling over with suppressed merriment, which only found its escape when they rounded the corner of the hill and were out of sight of the older people. Then she thrust her arm through Leslie's, and broke into a long ripple of laughter.
"Oh, George dear," she said. "I thought I should have exploded. Your face was simply lovely!"
Leslie smiled contentedly.