’No, you couldn’t forget, Bridget—­a thing like that—­I know you couldn’t.  And what made you do it!  Did you think I had forgotten George?’

At that the tears streamed down her face, unheeded.  She approached her sister piteously.

’Bridget, tell me what he looked like!  Did you speak to him—­did you see his eyes open?  Oh my poor George!—­and I here—­never thinking of him’—­she broke off incoherently, twisting her hands.  ’Miss Eustace says he was wounded in two places—­severely—­that she’s afraid there’s no hope.  Did they say that to you, Bridget—­tell me!—­for Heaven’s sake tell me!’

‘You’ll make yourself ill,’ said Bridget harshly.  ’You’d better lie down, and let me pack for you.’

Nelly laughed out.

’As if I’d ever let you do anything for me any more!  No, that’s done with.  You’ve been so accustomed to manage me all these years.  You thought you could manage me now—­you thought you could let George die—­and I should never know—­and you’d make me marry—­William Farrell.  Bridget—­I hate you!’

She broke off, shivering, but resumed almost at once—­’I see it all—­I think I see it all.  And now it’s all done for between you and me.  If George dies, I shall never come back to live with you again.  You’d better make plans, Bridget.  It’s over for ever.’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying, now,’ said Bridget, coldly.

Nelly did not hear her, she was lost in a whirl of images and thoughts.  And governed by them she went up to Bridget again, thrusting her small white face under her sister’s eyes.

’What sort of a room was he in, Bridget?  Who was nursing him?  Are you sure he didn’t know you?  Did you call him by his name?  Did you make him understand?’

‘He knew nobody,’ said Bridget, drawing back, against her will, before the fire in Nelly’s wild eyes.  ’He was in a very good room.  There was a nurse sitting with him.’

‘Was he—­was he very changed?’

‘Of course he was.  If not, I should have known him.’

Nelly half smiled.  Bridget could never have thought that soft mouth capable of so much scorn.  But no words came.  Then Nelly walked away to a drawer where she kept her accounts, her cheque-book, and any loose money she might be in possession of.  She took out her cheque-book and some two or three pounds that lay there.

‘If you want money, I can lend you some,’ said Bridget, catching at the old note of guardianship.

‘Thank you.  But I shall not want it.’

‘Nelly, don’t be a fool!’ said Bridget, stung at last into speech.  ’Suppose all you think is true—­I don’t admit it, mind—­but suppose it’s true.  How was I doing such a terrible wrong to you?—­in the eyes, I mean, of sensible people—­in not disturbing your mind.  Nobody expected—­that man I saw—­to know anybody again—­or to live more than a few days.  Even if I had been certain—­and how could I be certain?—­wasn’t it reasonable to weigh one thing against another?  You know very well—­it’s childish to ignore it—­what’s been going on here——­’