that no cause could be worth such
wretched inconvenience as the war caused to everyone. She hated to feel
and know that probably the majority of decent people would say, if
asked,--as Captain Marsworth had practically said--that she, Bridget
Cookson, ought to be doing V.A.D. work, or relieving munition-workers at
week-ends, instead of fiddling with an index to a text-book on 'The New
Psychology.' The mere consciousness of that was already an attack on her
personal freedom to do what she liked, which she hotly resented. And as
to that conscription of women for war-work which was vaguely talked of,
Bridget passionately felt that she would go to prison rather than submit
to such a thing. For the war said nothing whatever to her heart or
conscience. All the great tragic side of it--the side of death and
wounds and tears--of high justice and ideal aims--she put away from her,
as she always had put away such things, in peace. They did not concern
her personally. Why _make_ trouble for oneself?

And yet here was a sister whose husband was 'wounded and
missing'--probably, as Bridget firmly believed, already dead. And the
meaning of that fact--that possibility--was writ so large on Nelly's
physical aspect, on Nelly's ways and plans, that there was really no
getting away from it. Also--there were other people to be considered.
Bridget did not at all want to offend or alienate Sir William
Farrell--now less than ever. And she was quite aware that he would think
badly of her, if he suspected she was not doing her best for Nelly.

The September light waned. The room grew so dark that Bridget turned on
an electric light beside her, and by the help of it stole a long look at
Nelly, who was still standing by the window. Would grieving--would the
loss of George--take Nelly's prettiness away? She had certainly lost
flesh during the preceding weeks and days. Her little chin was very
sharp, as Bridget saw it against the window, and her hair seemed to have
parted with its waves and curls, and to be hanging limp about her ears.
Bridget felt a pang of annoyance that anything should spoil Nelly's good
looks. It was altogether unnecessary and absurd.

Presently Nelly moved back towards her sister.

'I don't know how I shall get through the next fortnight,' she said in a
low voice. 'I wonder what we had better do?'

'Well, we can't stay here,' said Bridget sharply. 'It's too expensive,
though it is such a poky hole. We can find a lodging, I