Bridget descended to the ground floor, and had a conversation with the young lady in the office, which threw no light at all on the question of lodgings.  The young lady in question seemed to be patting and pinning up her back hair all the time, besides carrying on another conversation with a second young lady in the background.  Bridget was disgusted with her and was just going upstairs again, when the very shabby and partly deformed hall porter informed her that someone—­a gentleman—­was waiting to see her in the drawing-room.

A gentleman?  Bridget hastened to the small and stuffy drawing-room, where the hall porter had just turned on the light, and there beheld a tall bearded man pacing up and down, who turned abruptly as she entered.

‘How is she?  Is there any news?’

Sir William Farrell hurriedly shook her offered hand, frowning a little at the sister who always seemed to him inadequate and ill-mannered.

’Thank you, Sir William; she is quite well.  There is a little news—­but nothing of any consequence.’

She repeated the contents of the hospital letter, with the comments on it of the lady they had seen at the office.

’We shan’t hear anything more for a fortnight.  They have written to Geneva.’

‘Then they think he’s a prisoner?’

Bridget supposed so.

’At any rate they hope he is.  Well, I’m thankful there’s no worse news.  Poor thing—­poor little thing!  Is she bearing up—­eating?—­sleeping?’

He asked the questions peremptorily, yet with a real anxiety.  Bridget vaguely resented the peremptoriness, but she answered the questions.  It was very difficult to get Nelly to eat anything, and Bridget did not believe she slept much.

Farrell shook his head impatiently, with various protesting noises, while she spoke.  Then drawing up suddenly, with his hands in his pockets, he looked round the room in which they stood.

’But why are you staying here?  It’s a dreadful hole!  That porter gave me the creeps.  And it’s so far from everywhere.’

‘There is a tube station close by.  We stay here because it’s cheap,’ said Bridget, grimly.

Sir William walked up the room again, poking his nose into the moribund geranium that stood, flanked by some old railway guides, on the middle table, surveyed the dirty and ill-kept writing-table, the uncomfortable chairs, and finally went to look out of the window; after which he suddenly and unaccountably brightened up and turned with a smile to Bridget.

’Do you think you could persuade your sister to do something that would please me very much?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know, Sir William.’

‘Well, it’s this.  Cicely and I have a flat in St. James’ Square.  I’m there very little just now, and she less.  You know we’re both awfully busy at Carton.  We’ve had a rush of wounded the last few weeks.  I must be up sometimes on business for the hospital, but I can always sleep at my club.  So what I want to persuade you to do, Miss Cookson, is to get Mrs. Sarratt to accept the loan of our flat, for a few weeks while she’s kept in town.  It would be a real pleasure to us.  We’re awfully sorry for her!’