“And that, in my secret thoughts, I used to call you my Good Sainte
Anne?”
Nancy shook her head.
“Never that, I fear,” she answered lightly. “The Good Sainte Anne works
miracles, Mr. Barth.”
“Oh, yes,” he said slowly. “I know she does. But sometimes the surest
miracles are the slowest to reach their full perfection.”
“And there are many pilgrims to her shrine who go away again without
having beheld a miracle,” she reminded him, still with the same
lightness.
“Oh, rather!” he answered gravely. “Still, do you know, Miss Howard, I
may be the one exception who proves the rule.”