or ten years now, she had looked upon them chiefly as awkward and inconvenient facts in women’s lives.  Before that time, she could remember a few silly feelings on her own part, especially with regard to a young clerk of her father’s, who had made love to her up to the very day when he shamefacedly told her that he was already engaged, and would soon be married.  That event had been a shock to her, and had made her cautious and suspicious towards men ever since.  Her life was now full of quite other interests—­incoherent and changeable, but strong while they lasted.  Nelly’s state of bliss awoke no answering sympathy in her.

‘Well, good-bye, Nelly,’ she said, when she had put on her things—­advancing towards them, while the lieutenant rose to his feet.  ’I expect Mrs. Weston will make you comfortable.  I ordered in all the things for to-morrow.’

‘Everything’s charming!’ said Nelly, as she put her arms round her sister.  ’It was awfully good of you to see to it all.  Will you come over to lunch to-morrow?  We might take you somewhere.’

’Oh, don’t bother about me!  You won’t want me.  I’ll look in some time.  I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

Nelly withdrew her arms.  George Sarratt surveyed his sister-in-law with curiosity.

‘Work?’ he repeated, with his pleasant, rather puzzled smile.

‘What are you doing now, Bridget?’ said Nelly, softly, stroking the sleeve of her sister’s jacket, but really conscious only of the man beside her.

‘Reading some proof-sheets for a friend,’ was the rather short reply, as Bridget released herself.

‘Something dreadfully difficult?’ laughed Nelly.

‘I don’t know what you mean by difficult,’ said Bridget ungraciously, looking for her gloves.  ’It’s psychology—­that’s all.  Lucy Fenn’s bringing out another volume of essays.’

‘It sounds awful!’ said George Sarratt, laughing.  ’I wish I knew what psychology was about.  But can’t you take a holiday?—­just this week?’

He looked at her rather gravely.  But Bridget shook her head, and again said good-bye.  George Sarratt took her downstairs, and saw her off on her bicycle.  Then he returned smiling, to his wife.

’I say, Bridget makes me feel a dunce!  Is she really such a learned party?’

Nelly’s dark eyes danced a little.  ’I suppose she is—­but she doesn’t stick to anything.  It’s always something different.  A few months ago, it was geology; and we used to go out for walks with a hammer and a bag.  Last year it was the-ology!  Our poor clergyman, Mr. Richardson, was no match for Bridget at all.  She could always bowl him over.’