“I think I was never more delighted in all my life. You were good to
tell me, first of all.”
“I wanted to,” Brock replied, with boyish eagerness. “We’ve been such
good chums, all this last month, that I was sure you would be
interested. I want you to meet her. We weren’t going to announce it just
yet; but I coaxed her to hurry it up a little, so I could bring her to
call on you, before you go home.”
Nancy still held the picture in her hand.
“Is she really as pretty as this?” she asked.
“Why,—yes, I suppose so. I used to think so. Lately, I haven’t thought
much about her looks, one way or the other,” he confessed. “She always
seems to me about right, and she knows things, too. Really, Miss
Howard,” as he spoke, he faced Nancy, with his eyes shining; “really,
I’m in great luck. It isn’t every day that a girl of her sort falls in
love with a fellow like me.”
There was no hint of coquetry in Nancy’s manner. With a frankness his
own sister might have shown, she held out her hand in token of
congratulation.
“I am not so sure of that,” she answered, with a smile.
Then the pause lengthened. Brock’s thoughts were far afield; Nancy’s
were fixed upon the man at her side. In all sincerity, she did rejoice
at his unexpected tidings. No sentimental regrets entered into her
perfect content. Her friendship for Brock had been friendship pure and
simple; on neither side had it ever been mingled with a thought of love.
From chance playmates of an October holiday, they had grown into a loyal
liking which was to outlast many a dividing year and mile. And Brock
deserved all good things, even the love of this dainty bit of girlhood
whose eyes smiled bravely back into her own.
“Tell me all about it,” she said at last.
Brock roused himself from his reverie.
“There’s not so much to tell. I’ve known her always; we’ve always been
good friends, but, last summer at Cacouna, it was—different.”
Nancy smiled at the pause which added explanatory force to the last
word.
“And was it then?”
“No; not till two or three weeks ago. You see, it took me a good while
to get to where I dared speak about it.”
“And when—?”
Brock looked up suddenly.
“I don’t dare think of that yet, Miss Howard,” he answered a bit
unsteadily. “The present is so perfect that I am afraid to tempt Fate by
asking anything more of the future. For the present, I am like the river
out there,” he pointed to the shining stream before him; “just drifting
along in the sunshine.”
And the sunshine found an answering light in Nancy’s eyes, as, accepting
his offered hand, she slowly rose to her feet and turned her face
towards home.