And when Bridget appeared, Cicely did indeed behave herself with remarkable decorum.  Her opinion was that Nelly’s strange sister had grown more unlike other people than ever since she had last seen her.  She seemed to be in a perpetual brown study, which was compatible, however, with a curious watchfulness which struck Cicely particularly.  She was always aware of any undercurrent in the room—­of anyone going in or out—­of persons passing in the road.  At lunch she scarcely opened her lips, but Cicely was all the time conscious of being observed.  After luncheon Bridget got up abruptly, and said she was going down to Grasmere to post a letter.

‘Oh, then,’ said Nelly—­’you can ask if there are any for me.’

For there was no delivery at the farm on Sunday morning.  Bridget nodded, and they soon saw her emerge from the farm gate and take the Grasmere road.

’I must say your sister seems greatly to prefer her own company to ours,’ said Cicely, lighting her cigarette.

Again Nelly looked distressed.

‘She was always like that,’ she said at last.  ’It doesn’t really mean anything.’

‘Do I know you well enough to ask whether you get on with her?’

Nelly coloured.  ’I try my best’—­she said, rather despairingly.  Then she added—­’she does all sorts of things for me that I’m too lazy to do for myself!’

‘I believe she likes Willy better than most people!’ laughed Cicely.  ’I’m not suggesting, please, that she has designs upon him.  But she is certainly more forthcoming to him than to anybody else, isn’t she?’

Nelly did not reply.  The remark only clouded her look still more.  For her inner mind was perfectly aware of Bridget’s attitude towards William Farrell, and understood it only too well.  She knew by this time, past any doubt, that Bridget was hungry for the Farrell wealth, and was impatient with herself as a little fool who had not yet made certain of it.  If she stuck to her purpose—­if she went away and cut off all communication with Carton—­Bridget would probably quarrel with her for good.

Would she stick to her purpose?  Her mind was miserably swaying to and fro.  She felt morally as she had once felt—­physically—­on a summer afternoon long before, when she, who could not swim, had gone imperceptibly out of her depth, while bathing, and had become suddenly aware of a seaward current, carrying her away.  No help was near.  For five minutes, which had seemed five years, she had wrestled against the deadly force, which if her girlish strength had been a fraction less, would have swept her out, a lifeless plaything to the open sea.  Spiritually, it was the same now.  Farrell’s will, and—­infinitely less important, but still, to be reckoned with—­Bridget’s will, were pressing her hard.  She did not know if she could keep her footing.

Meanwhile Cicely, in complete ignorance of the new and agonised tension in Nelly’s mind, was thinking only of her own affairs.  As soon as her after-luncheon cigarette was done, she sprang up and began to put on her hat.