Cicely and Hester followed, soon perceiving that the two ahead had slipped into animated conversation.

‘What can it be about?’ said Cicely, in Hester’s ear.

‘I heard the word “Charcot,"’ said Hester.

The bride listened deliberately.

’And William’s talking about an article in the Lancet he’s been boring Herbert and me with, by that very specialist that Nelly’s so keen about,—­the man that is going to have her trained to nurse his cases.  Something about the new treatment of “shock.”  I say, Hester, what an odd sort of fresh beginning!’

Cicely turned a look half grave, half laughing on her companion—­adding hastily—­

‘The specialist’s married!’

Hester frowned a little.

‘Beginning of what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Cicely, with a shrug, ’But life is long, Mademoiselle Hester, and now they’ve got a common interest—­outside themselves.  They can talk about things—­not feelings.  Goodness!—­did you hear that?  William is head over ears in his new antiseptic—­and look at Nelly—­she’s quite pink!  That’s what I meant by her being horribly impersonal.  She used the word “scientific” to me, three times, when I went to see her—­Nelly!’

‘If she’s impersonal, I should doubt whether William is,’ said Hester drily.

‘Ah, no—­poor Willy!’ was Cicely’s musing reply.  ’It’s a hard time for him.  I don’t believe she’s ever out of his mind.  Or at least, she wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for his work.  That’s the blessed part—­for both of them.  And now you see—­it gives them such a deal to talk about’—­her gesture indicated the couple in front.  ’It’s like two sore surfaces, isn’t it, that mustn’t touch—­you want something between.’

‘All the same, William mustn’t set his heart—­’

‘And Hester—­dear old thing!—­mustn’t preach!’ said Cicely laughing, and pinching her cousin’s arm.  ’What’s the good of saying that, about a man like William, who knows what he wants?  Of course he’s set his heart, and will go on setting it.  But he’ll wait—­as long as she likes.’

‘It’ll be a long time.’

’All right!  They’re neither of them Methuselahs yet.  Heavens!—­What are they at now? Ambrine!—­she’s talking to him’

But some deep mingled instinct, at once of sympathy with Nelly and pity for Farrell, made Hester unwilling to discuss the subject any more.  George’s death was too recent; peace and a happy future too remote.  So she turned on Cicely.

’And please, what have you done with Herbert?  I was promised a bridegroom.’

‘Business!’ said Cicely, sighing.  ’We had hardly arrived for our week’s leave, when the wretched War Office wired him to come back.  He went this morning, and I wanted to go too, but—­I’m not to racket just now.’

Cicely blushed, and Hester, smiling, pressed her hand.

‘Then you’re not going to Rome?’