‘So you are going to the cottage?’ said Nelly.

‘Certainly.  How do you like my boots?’

She held up one for inspection.

‘I don’t like them!’

’Fast, you think?  Ah, wait till you see my next costume!  High Russian boots, delicious things, up to there!’ Cicely indicated a point above the knee, not generally reached by the female boot—­’hand-painted and embroidered—­with tassels—­you know!—­corduroy trousers!’

‘Cicely!—­you won’t!’

’Shan’t I—­and a pink jersey, the new shade?  I saw a friend of mine in this get-up, last week.  Ripping!  Only she had red hair, which completed it.  Perhaps I might dye mine!’

They sallied forth into a mild winter afternoon.  Nelly would have avoided the cottage and Farrell if she could, but Cicely had her own way as usual.  Presently they turned into a side lane skirting the tarn, from which the cottage and its approaches could be seen, at a distance.  From the white-pillared porch, various figures were emerging, four in all.

Cicely came to a stop.

‘There, you see!’ she said, in her sharpest voice—­’Look there!’ For two of the figures, whom it was easy to identify as Captain Marsworth and Miss Stewart, diverging from the other pair, went off by themselves in the direction of Skelwith, with a gay wave of the hand to the old Rector and Farrell left behind.

Cicely’s sudden scarlet ebbed in a moment, leaving her quite white.  She walked on with difficulty, her eyes on the ground.  Nelly dared not address her, or slip a sympathising hand into hers.  And it was too late to retreat.  Farrell had perceived them, and he and his companion came towards them.  Cicely pulled herself rapidly together.

Nelly too had need of a minute or two’s recollection before Farrell joined them.  He and she were still to meet as usual, while meeting was possible—­wasn’t that how it stood?  After all, her new plans could not be made in a moment.  She had promised nothing; but he had promised—­would she be able to hold him to it?  Her heart trembled as he came nearer.

But he met her in a sunny mood, introducing her to the white-haired old clergyman, and watching Cicely with eyes that shewed a hidden amusement.

‘The other two seemed to have some private business to discuss,’ he said carelessly.  ’So they’ve got rid of us for a while.  They’re walking round the other side of the tarn and will join us at the top of Red Bank.  At least if you’re up to a walk?’

He addressed Nelly, who could do nothing but assent, though it meant a tete-a-tete with him, while Cicely and the old Rector followed.