Was that Mrs. Sarratt descending the side-lane?  The sight of her recalled his thoughts instantly to the war, and to a letter he had received that morning from a brother officer just arrived in London on medical leave—­the letter of a ‘grouser’ if ever there was one.

’They say that this week is to see another big push—­the French probably in Champagne, and we south of Bethune.  I know nothing first-hand, but I do know that it can only end in a few kilometres of ground, huge casualties,—­and, as you were! We are not ready—­we can’t be ready for months.  On the other hand we must keep moving—­if only to kill a few Germans, and keep our own people at home in heart.  I passed some of the Lanchesters on my way down—­going up, as fresh as paint after three weeks’ rest—­what’s left of them.  They’re sure to be in it.’

The little figure in the mauve cotton had paused at the entrance to the lane, perceiving him.

What about Sarratt?  Had she heard?  He hurried on to meet her, and put his question.

‘There can’t be any telegram yet,’ she said, her pale cheeks flushing.  ‘But it will come to-night.  Shall we go back quickly?’

They walked on rapidly.  He soon found she did not want to talk of the news, and he was driven back on the weather.

’What a blessing to see the sun again I this west country damp demoralises me.’

‘I think I like it!’

He laughed.

‘Do you only “say that to annoy “?’

’No, I do like it!  I like to see the rain shutting out everything, so that one can’t make any plans—­or go anywhere.’  She smiled, but he was well aware of the fever in her look.  He had not seen it there since the weeks immediately following Sarratt’s departure.  His heart warmed to the frail creature, tremulous as a leaf in the wind, yet making a show of courage.  He had often asked himself whether he would wish to be loved as Mrs. Sarratt evidently loved her husband; whether he could possibly meet such a claim upon his own sensibility.  But to-day he thought he could meet it; to-day he thought it would be agreeable.

Nelly had not told Marsworth however that one reason for which she liked the rain was that it had temporarily put an end to the sketching lessons.  Nor could she have added that this new distaste in her, as compared with the happy stir of fresh or quickened perception, which had been the result of his early teaching, was connected, not only with Sir William—­but with Bridget—­her sister Bridget.

But the truth was that something in Bridget’s manner, very soon after the Carton visit, had begun to perplex and worry the younger sister.  Why was Bridget always insisting on the lessons?—­always ready to scold Nelly if one was missed—­and always practising airs and graces with Sir William that she wasted on no one else?  Why was she so frequently away on the days when Sir William was expected?  Nelly had only just begun to notice it, and to fall