He looked at her with a laugh.  His colour had risen.

’I arrive here—­often—­full of grievances and wrath against everybody—­hating the Government—­hating the War Office—­hating our own staff, or somebody on it—­entirely and absolutely persuaded that the country is going to the dogs, and that we shall be at Germany’s mercy in six months.  Well, there you sit—­I don’t know how you manage it!—­but somehow it all clears away.  I don’t want to hang anybody any more—­I think we are going to win—­I think our staff are splendid fellows, and the nurses, angels—­(they ain’t, though, all the same!)—­and it’s all you!—­just by being you—­just by giving me rope enough—­letting me have it all out.  And I go away with twice the work in me I had when I came.  And Cicely’s the same—­and Hester.  You play upon us all—­just because’—­he hesitated—­’because you’re so sweet to us all.  You raise us to a higher power; you work through us.  Who else will do it if you desert us?’

Her lips trembled.

’I don’t want to desert you, but—­what right have I to such comfort—­such luxury—­when other people are suffering and toiling?’

He raised his eyebrows.

’Luxury?  This little room?  And there you sit sewing and knitting all day!  And I’ll be bound you don’t eat enough to keep a sparrow!’

There was silence.  She was saying to herself—­’Shall I ever be able to go?—­to break with them all?’ The thought, the image, of George flashed again through her mind.  But why was it so much fainter, so much less distinct than it had been an hour ago?  Yet she seemed to turn to him, to beg him piteously to protect her from something vague and undefined.

Suddenly a low voice spoke—­

‘Nelly!—­don’t go!’

She looked up—­startled—­her childish eyes full of tears.

He held out his hand, and she could not help it, she yielded her own.

Farrell’s look was full of energy, of determination.  He drew nearer to her, still holding her hand.  But he spoke with perfect self-control.

’Nelly, I won’t deceive you!  I love you!  You are everything to me.  It seems as if I had never been happy—­never known what happiness could possibly mean till I knew you.  To come here every week—­to see you like this for these few hours—­it changes everything—­it sweetens everything—­because you are in my heart—­because I have the hope—­that some day——­’

She withdrew her hand and covered her face.

‘Oh, it’s my fault—­my fault!’ she said, incoherently—­’how could I?—­how could I?’

There was silence again.  He opened his lips to speak once or twice, but no words came.  One expression succeeded another on his face; his eyes sparkled.  At last he said—­’How could you help it?  You could not prevent my loving you.’

‘Yes, I could—­I ought——­,’ she said, vehemently.  ’Only I was a fool—­I never realised.  That’s so like me.  I won’t face things.  And yet’—­she looked at him miserably—­’I did beg you to let me live my own life—­didn’t I?—­not to spoil me—­not—­not to be so kind to me.’