‘I will come to-morrow,’ said Miss Martin, touching Nelly’s hand softly.  The cold, small fingers moved, as though instinctively, towards her, and took refuge in her warm capacious hand.  Then Nelly whispered to Bridget—­appealingly—­

‘I want to go, Bridget.’

Bridget frowned with annoyance.  Why should Nelly want to go so soon?  The beauty and luxury of the cottage—­the mere tea-table with all its perfect appointments of fine silver and china, the multitude of cakes, the hot-house fruit, the well-trained butler—­all the signs of wealth that to Nelly were rather intimidating, and to Sarratt—­in war-time—­incongruous and repellent, were to Bridget the satisfaction of so many starved desires.  This ease and lavishness; the best of everything and no trouble to get it; the ‘cottage’ as perfect as the palace;—­it was so, she felt, that life should be lived, to be really worth living.  She envied the Farrells with an intensity of envy.  Why should some people have so much and others so little?  And as she watched Sir William’s attentions to Nelly, she said to herself, for the hundredth time, that but for Nelly’s folly, she could easily have captured wealth like this.  Why not Sir William himself?  It would not have been at all unlikely that they should come across him on one of their Westmorland holidays.  The thought of their dingy Manchester rooms, of the ceaseless care and economy that would be necessary for their joint menage when Sarratt was gone, filled her with disgust.  Their poverty was wholly unnecessary—­it was Nelly’s silly fault.  She felt at times as though she hated her brother-in-law, who had so selfishly crossed their path, and ruined the hopes and dreams which had been strengthening steadily in her mind during the last two years especially, since Nelly’s beauty had become more pronounced.

‘It’s not at all late!’ she said, angrily, in her sister’s ear.

‘Oh, but George wants to take me to Easedale,’ said Nelly under her breath.  ‘It will be our last long walk.’

Bridget had to submit to be torn away.  A little motor was waiting outside.  It had brought the Sarratts and Bridget from Rydal, and was to take Bridget home, dropping the Sarratts at Grasmere for an evening walk.  Sir William tried indeed to persuade them to stay longer, till a signal from his cousin Hester stopped him; ’Well, if you must go, you must,’ he said, regretfully.  ’Cicely, you must arrange with Mrs. Sarratt, when she will pay us a visit—­and’—­he looked uncertainly round him, as though he had only just remembered Bridget’s existence—­’of course your sister must come too.’

Cicely came forward, and with a little lisp, repeated her brother’s invitation—­rather perfunctorily.

Sir William took his guests to their car, and bade a cordial farewell to Sarratt.

’Good-bye—­and good luck.  What shall I wish you?  The D.S.O., and a respectable leave before the summer’s over?  You will be in for great things.’