’I only meant’—­Farrell continued, anxiously—­’that he would beg you not to anticipate trouble—­not to go to meet it.’

She summoned smiles, altering her position a little, and drawing a wrap round her.  The delicate arm was no longer within his reach.

And restlessly she began to talk of other things—­the conscientious objectors of the morning—­Zeppelins—­a recruiting meeting at Ambleside.  Farrell had the impression of a wounded creature that could not bear to be touched; and it was something new to his prevailing sense of power in life, to be made to realise that he could do nothing.  His sympathy seemed to alienate her; and he felt much distressed and rebuffed.

* * * * *

Meanwhile as the clouds cleared away from the September afternoon, Marsworth and Cicely were strolling along the Lake, and sparring as usual.

He had communicated to her his intention of leaving Carton within a week or so, and trying some fresh treatment in London.

‘You’re tired of us?’ she enquired, her head very much in air.

‘Not at all.  But I think I might do a bit of work.’

‘The doctors don’t think so.’

’Ah, well—­when a man’s got to my stage, he must make experiments on his own.  It won’t be France—­I know that.  But there’s lots else.’

‘You’ll break down in a week!’ she said with energy.  ’I had a talk about you with Seaton yesterday.’

He looked at her with amusement.  For the moment, she was no longer Cicely Farrell, extravagantly dressed, but the shrewd hospital worker, who although she would accept no responsibility that fettered her goings and comings beyond a certain point, was yet, as he well knew, invaluable, as a force in the background, to both the nursing and medical staff of Carton.

‘Well, what did Seaton say?’

’That you would have another bad relapse, if you attempted yet to go to work.’

‘I shall risk it.’

‘That’s so like you.  You never take anyone’s advice.’

‘On the contrary, I am the meekest and most docile of men.’  She shrugged her shoulders.

’You were docile, I suppose, when Seaton begged you not to go off to the Rectory, and give yourself all that extra walking backwards and forwards to the hospital every day?’

’I wanted a change of scene.  I like the old Rector—­I even like family prayers.’

‘I am sure everything—­and everybody—­is perfect at the Rectory!’

‘No—­not perfect—­but peaceable.’

He looked at her smiling.  His grey eyes, under their strong black brows, challenged her.  She perceived in them a whole swarm of unspoken charges.  Her own colour rose.

‘So peace is what you want?’

‘Peace—­and a little sympathy.’

‘And we give you neither?’

He hesitated.

‘Willy never fails one.’

’So it’s my crimes that are driving you away?  It’s all to be laid on my shoulders?’