ved her with as much sarcasm in their sweetness as she dared to
throw into them. She changed her tone.

'Don't go to the cottage this afternoon, Cicely.'

'Why?' The voice was peremptory.

'Well, because----' Nelly described Farrell's chance meeting with the
Stewarts and the inevitable invitation. Cicely's flush deepened. But she
tried to speak carelessly.

'Of course, the merest device on that girl's part! She arranged it all.'

'I really don't think she did.'

'Ah, well, _you_ haven't seen what's been going on. A more shameless
pursuit----'

Cicely stopped abruptly. There was a sudden sparkle in Nelly's look,
which seemed to shew that the choice of the word 'pursuit' had been
unlucky.

Miss Farrell quieted down.

'Of course,' she said, with a very evident attempt to recapture whatever
dignity might be left on the field, 'neither Willy nor I like to see an
old friend throwing himself away on a little pink and white nonentity
like Daisy Stewart. We can't be expected to smile upon it.'

'But I understand, from one of the parties principally concerned, that
there is really nothing in it!' said Nelly, smiling.

'One of the perjuries I suppose at which Jove laughs!' said Cicely
getting up, and hastily rearranging her short curls with the help of
various combs, before the only diminutive looking-glass the farm
sitting-room provided. 'However, we shall see what happens. I have no
doubt Miss Daisy has arranged the proposal scene for this very
afternoon. We shall be in for the last act of the play.'

'Then you _are_ going to the cottage?'

'Certainly!' said Cicely, with a clearing brow. 'Don't let's talk any
more about it. Do give me some lunch. I'm ravenous. Ah, here's your
sister!'

For through a back window looking on what had once been a farm-yard, and
was now a small garden, Cicely saw Bridget emerge from the rebuilt
outhouse where an impromptu study had been devised for her, and walk
towards the farm.

'I say, what's happened to your sister?'

'Happened to her? What do you mean?'

'She looks so much older.'

'I suppose she's been working too hard,' said Nelly, remorsefully. 'I
wish I knew what it was all about.'

'Well, I can tell you'--said Cicely laughing and whispering--'that
Willy doesn't think it's about anything in particular!'

'Hush!' said Nelly, with a pained look. 'Perhaps we shall all turn out
to be quite wrong. We shall discover that it was something--'

'Desperately interesting and