Cicely was the worst of letter-writers; and since Nelly and her sister
had been in Rydal again there had been constant meetings. Nelly's
confidences in return for Cicely's were not many nor frequent. The
effects of grief were to be seen in her aspect and movements, in her
most pathetic smile, in her increased dreaminess, and the inertia
against which she struggled in vain. Since May began, she had for the
first time put on black. Nobody had dared to speak to her about it, so
sharply did the black veil thrown back from the childish brow intensify
the impression that she made, as of something that a touch might break.
But the appearance of the widow's dress seemed to redouble the
tenderness with which every member of the little group of people among
whom she lived treated her--always excepting her sister. Nelly had in
vain protested to Farrell against the 'spoiling' of which she was the
object. 'Spoiled' she was, and it was clear both to Hester and Cicely,
after a time, that though she had the will, she had not the strength to
resist.

Unless on one point. She had long since stopped all subsidies of money
from Farrell through Bridget, having at last discovered the plain facts
about them. Her letter of thanks to him for all he had done for her was
at once so touching and so determined, that he had not dared since to
cross her will. All that he now found it possible to urge was that the
sisters would allow him to lend them a vacant farmhouse of his, not far
from the Loughrigg Tarn cottage. Nelly had been so far unwilling; it was
clear that her heart clung to the Rydal lodgings. But Hester and Cicely
were both on Farrell's side. The situation of the farm was higher and
more bracing than Rydal; and both Cicely and Farrell cherished the
notion of making it a home for Nelly, until indeed--

At this point Farrell generally succeeded in putting a strong rein upon
his thoughts, as part of the promise he had made to Hester. But Cicely,
who was much cooler and more matter of fact than her brother, had long
since looked further ahead. Willy was in love, irrevocably in love with
Nelly Sarratt. That had been plain to her for some time. Before those
days in the flat, when she herself had fallen in love with Nelly, and
before the disappearance of George Sarratt, she had resented Willy's
absurd devotion to a little creature who, for all her beauty, seemed to
Cicely merely an insignificant member of the middle classes, with a
particularl