"You and Nancy, you must be the pilgrims," called out Beresford cheerily.
The twins had trusted him with their secret.
"Do you love Nancy?" Helen had demanded of him the night before. "Yes, of course I love Nancy," he had answered.
"Oh, don't be stupid," the girl retorted, stamping her foot. "Do you love her?"
"I will, if you wish," Beresford answered gallantly.
"Well, I don't wish it. If you're really and truly sure you don't love her, I want you to keep David and Edward in hand when we go to the temple; find a tiger for them, even if you have to buy one—"
"Couldn't I be a tiger myself? I look well in stripes,—some have been ungracious enough to suggest my wearing them permanently,—and if you can give me some hint of how a tiger roars or whether a tiger does roar or merely sits on his hind feet and purrs,—I won't do that, mind you,—"
"I am not joking," Helen broke in. "I want you to keep the boys amused so that Ronald can have a chance."
"Right-o," he said, suddenly understanding. He was a little saddened, for the habit of seeing Nancy was growing on him.
"Well, I'm late in the race," he thought to himself. "I can't complain." So, at Helen's command, he was tactfully alert to every chance of helping what he supposed, in his simple way, were lovers.