"She may not like me," Nancy replied.
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed.
Nancy smiled.
"It won't be my fault, at any rate, if she doesn't," she said. "I wanted her to meet at first just the right people your old friends and a few others. It is hard for a woman—especially a young woman—coming among strangers." She glanced down the table to where Maude sat talking to Ham. "She has an air about her,—a great deal of self-possession."
I, too, had noticed this, with pride and relief. For I knew Maude had been nervous.
"You are luckier than you deserve to be," Nancy reminded me. "But I hope you realize that she has a mind of her own, that she will form her own opinions of people, independently of you."
I must have betrayed the fact that I was a little startled, for the remark came as a confirmation of what I had dimly felt.
"Of course she has," I agreed, somewhat lamely. "Every woman has, who is worth her salt."
Nancy's smile bespoke a knowledge that seemed to transcend my own.
"You do like her?" I demanded.