get. Accordingly she professed complete
incredulity on the subject of the news. 'Invented,'--she supposed--'to
sell some halfpenny rag or other. It would all be contradicted
to-morrow.' Then when Bridget, smarting under so much scepticism,
attempted to support her tale by the testimony of various stale morsels
of military gossip, current in a certain pessimist and pacifist
household she had been visiting in Manchester, as to the unfavourable
situation in France, and the dead certainty of the loss of Verdun;
passing glibly on to the 'bad staff work' on the British side, and the
'poor quality of the new officers compared to the old,' etc.--Cicely
visibly turned up her nose, and with a few deft, cat-like strokes put a
raw provincial in her place. She, Cicely, of course--she made it plain,
by a casual hint or two--had just come from the very centre of things;
from living on a social diet of nothing less choice than Cabinet
Ministers and leading Generals--Bonar Law, Asquith, Curzon, Briand,
Lloyd George, Thomas, the great Joffre himself. Bridget began to scowl a
little, and had it been anyone else than Cicely Farrell who was thus
chastising her, would soon have turned her back upon them. For she was
no indiscriminate respecter of persons, and cared nothing at all about
rank or social prestige. But from a Farrell she took all things
patiently; till Cicely, suddenly discovering that her victim was giving
her no sport, called peremptorily to 'Willy' to help her put on her
cloak. But Farrell was having some last words with Nelly, and Marsworth
came forward--

'Let me--'

'Oh thank you!' said Cicely carelessly, 'I can manage it myself.' And
she did not allow him to touch it.

Marsworth retreated, and Hester, who had seen the little incident,
whispered indignantly in her cousin's ear--

'Cicely!--you are a wicked little wretch!'

But Cicely only laughed, and her feather made defiant nods and
flourishes all the way downstairs.

'Come along Marsworth, my boy,' said Farrell when the good-byes were
said, and Hester stood watching their departure, while Cicely chattered
from the motor, where she sat wrapped in furs against a rising east
wind. 'Outside--or inside?' He pointed to the car.

'Outside, thank you,' said Marsworth, with decision. He promptly took
his place beside the chauffeur, and Farrell and his sister were left to
each other's company. Farrell had seldom known his companion more cross
and provoking than she was du