back instinctively on Miss Martin’s company whenever it could be had.  She hated her own vague annoyance with Bridget’s behaviour, just because she could not pour herself out to George about it.  It was really too silly and stupid to talk about.  She supposed—­she dreaded—­that Bridget might be going to ask Sir William some favour; that she meant to make use of his kindness to her sister in order to work upon him.  How horrible that would be!—­how it would spoil everything!  Nelly began sometimes to dream of moving, of going to Borrowdale, or to the coast at Scascale.  And then, partly her natural indolence, and partly her clinging to every rock and field in this beautiful place where she had been so happy, intervened; and she let things slide.

Yet when Sir William and Cicely arrived, to find Bridget making tea, and Nelly listening with a little frown of effort, while Marsworth, pencil in hand, was drawing diagrams a la Belloc, to explain to her the Russian retreat from Galicia, how impossible not to feel cheered by Farrell’s talk and company!  The great bon enfant, towering in the little room, and positively lighting it up by the red-gold of his-hair and beard, so easily entertained, so overflowing with kind intentions, so fastidious intellectually, and so indulgent morally:—­as soon as he appeared he filled the scene.

‘No fresh news, dear Mrs. Sarratt, nothing whatever,’ he said at once, meeting her hungry eyes.  ‘And you?’

She shook her head.

’Don’t worry.  You’ll get it soon.  I’ve sent the motor back to Windermere for the evening papers.’

Meanwhile Marsworth found himself reduced to watching Cicely, and presently he found himself more angry and disgusted than he had ever yet been.  How could she?  How dared she?  On this day of all days, to be snobbishly playing the great lady in Mrs. Sarratt’s small sitting-room!  Whenever that was Cicely’s mood she lisped; and as often as Marsworth, who was sitting far away from her, talking to Bridget Cookson, caught her voice, it seemed to him that she was lisping—­affectedly—­monstrously.  She was describing for instance a certain ducal household in which she had just been spending the week-end, and Marsworth heard her say—­

‘Well at last, poor Evelyn’ (’poor Evelyn’ seemed to be a youthful Duchess, conducting a war economy campaign through the villages of her husband’s estate), ’began to get threatening letters.  She found out afterwards they came from a nurse-maid she had sent away.  “Madam, don’t you talk to us, but look at ’ome! examine your own nursewy, Madam, and hold your tongue!” She did examine, and I found her cwying.  “Oh, Cicely, isn’t it awful, I’ve just discovered that Nurse has been spending seven pounds a week on Baby’s wibbons!” So she’s given up war economy!’

‘Why not the “wibbons?"’ said Hester Martin, who had just come in and heard the tale.

‘Because nobody gives up what they weally want to have,’ said Cicely promptly, with a more affected voice and accent than before.