A car arrived at one o’clock bringing Cicely, much wrapped up in fur coat and motor-veils.  She came impetuously into the sitting-room, and seemed to fill it.  It took some time to peel her and reduce her to the size of an ordinary mortal.  She then appeared in a navy-blue coat and skirt, with navy-blue boots buttoned almost to the knees.  The skirt was immensely full and immensely short.  When the strange erection to which the motor-veil was attached was removed, Cicely showed a dark head with hair cut almost short, and parted on the left side.  Her eyebrows were unmistakably blackened, her lips unmistakably—­strengthened; and Nelly saw at once that her guest was in a very feverish and irritated condition.

‘Are you alone?’ said Cicely, glancing imperiously round her, when the disrobing was done.

‘Bridget is here.’

‘What are you going to do this afternoon?’

‘Can’t we have a walk, you and I, together?’

‘Of course we can.  Why should we be bothered with anyone else?’

‘I suppose,’ said Nelly timidly—­’they will come in to tea?’

’"They”?  Oh! you mean Willy and Captain Marsworth?  It is such a pity Willy can’t find somebody more agreeable for these Sundays.’

Cicely threw herself back in her chair, and lifted a navy-blue boot to the fire.

‘More agreeable than Captain Marsworth?’

’Exactly.  Willy can’t do anything without him, when he’s in these parts; and it spoils everything!’

Nelly dropped a kiss on Cicely’s hair, as she stood beside her.

‘Why didn’t you put off coming till next week?’

’Why should I allow my plans to be interfered with by Captain Marsworth?’ said Cicely, haughtily.  ‘I came to see you!’

‘Well, we needn’t see much of him,’ said Nelly, soothingly, as she dropped on a stool beside her friend.

’I’m not going to be kept out of the cottage, by Captain Marsworth, all the same!’ said Cicely hastily.  ‘There are several books there I want.’

‘Oh, Cicely, what have you been doing?’ said Nelly, laying her head on her guest’s knees.

’Doing?  Nothing that I hadn’t a perfect right to do.  But I suppose—­that very particular gentleman—­has been complaining?’

Nelly looked up, and met an eye, fiercely interrogative, yet trying hard not to be interrogative.

‘I’ve been doing my best to pick up the pieces.’

‘Then he has been complaining?’

‘A little narrative of facts,’ said Nelly mildly.

‘Facts—­facts!’ said Cicely, with the air of a disturbed lioness.  ’As if a man whose ideas of manners and morals date from about—­a million years before the Flood.’

’Dear!—­there weren’t any manners or morals a million years before the Flood.’

Cicely drew a breath of exasperation.

’It’s all very well to laugh, but if you only knew how impossible that man is!’