yet--he had not been able so far to tear himself away from Carton!
And he knew many things about Cicely Farrell that Nelly Sarratt had not
discovered; things that alternately softened and enraged him; things
that kept him now, as for some years past, provokingly, irrationally
interested in her. He had once proposed to her, and she had refused him.
That was known to a good many people. But what their relations were now
was a mystery to the friends on both sides.

Whatever they were, however, on this September afternoon Marsworth was
coming rapidly to the conclusion that he had better put an end to them.
His latent feelings of resentment and irritation had been much sharpened
of late by certain passages of arms between himself and Cicely--since
she returned from her visits--with regard to that perfectly gentle and
inoffensive little maiden, Miss Daisy Stewart, the Rector's
granddaughter. Miss Farrell had several times been unpardonably rude to
the poor child in his presence, and, as it seemed to him, with the
express object of showing him how little she cared to keep on friendly
terms with him.

Nevertheless--he found himself puzzling over certain other incidents in
his recent ken, of a different character. The hospital at Carton was
mainly for privates, with a certain amount of accommodation for
officers. He had done his best during the summer to be useful to some
poor fellows, especially of his own regiment, on the Tommies' side. And
he had lately come across some perplexing signs of a special
thoughtfulness on Miss Farrell's part for these particular men. He had
discovered also that she had taken pains to keep these small kindnesses
of hers from his knowledge.

'I wasn't to tell you, sir,'--said the boy who had lost an eye--'not
whatever. But when you come along with them things'--a set of draughts
and a book--'why it do seem as though I be gettin' more than my share!'

Well, she had always been incomprehensible--and he was weary of the
attempt to read her. But he wanted a home--he wanted to marry. He began
to think again--in leisurely fashion--of the Rector's granddaughter.

Was that Mrs. Sarratt descending the side-lane? The sight of her
recalled his thoughts instantly to the war, and to a letter he had
received that morning from a brother officer just arrived in London on
medical leave--the letter of a 'grouser' if ever there was one.

'They say that this week is to see another big push--the French probably
in