able. She took it quite calmly,
and was more than compensated for the lack of conversation by the whole
spectacle of the Farrell wealth; the flowers, the silver, the costly
accessories of all kinds, which even in war-time, and in a 'cottage,'
seemed to be indispensable. It would have been more amusing, no doubt,
if it had been the big house and not the cottage. Sometimes through the
open windows and the trees, she caught sight of the great lighted pile a
little way off, and found herself dreaming of what it would be to live
there, and to command all that these people commanded. She saw herself
sweeping through the magnificent rooms, giving orders, inviting guests,
entertaining royalty, driving about the country in splendid motors. It
was a waking dream, and though she never uttered a word, the animation
of her thoughts infused a similar animation into her aspect, and made
her almost unconscious of her neighbours. Captain Marsworth made several
attempts to win her attention before she heard him.

'Yes.'

She turned at last an absent glance upon him.

'Miss Farrell talks of our all going over to the hospital after dinner.
She and Sir William often spend the evening there,' said Captain
Marsworth, quite aware from Miss Farrell's frequent glances in his
direction that he was not in her opinion doing his duty with Miss
Cookson.

'Will it take us long?' said Bridget, the vivacity of her look dying
out.

'As long as you please to stay!' laughed the Captain, drily.

* * * * *

That passage after dinner through the convalescent wards of the finely
equipped hospital was to Nelly Sarratt an almost intolerable experience.
She went bravely through it, leaving, wherever she talked to a
convalescent, an impression of shy sweetness behind her, which made a
good many eyes follow her as Farrell led her through the rooms. But she
was thankful when it was over; and when, at last, she was alone in her
room for the night, she flew--for consolation--to the drawer in which
she had locked her writing-desk, and the letters she had received that
morning. The post had just arrived as they were leaving Rydal, and she
had hastily torn open a letter from George, and thrust the others into a
large empty envelope. And now she discovered among them to her delight a
second letter from George, unopened. What unexpected joy!

It too was dated--'Somewhere in France'--and had been written two days
after the letter she