watching sense to be oddly like two wrestlers pacing round each
other, and watching the opportunity to close. Each would take out a book
from the shelves and put it back, or take up a newspaper from the
tables--crossing repeatedly, but never speaking. And meanwhile Nelly
also noticed that Daisy Stewart, now that Cicely's close contact was
removed, was looking extraordinarily pretty. Radiance, not to be
concealed, shone from her charming childish face.

Suddenly Marsworth paused in front of Cicely, intercepting her as she
was making for the door.

'Would you be an angel, Miss Farrell, and help me to find a particular
Turner drawing I want to see? Willy says it's in the studio somewhere.'

Cicely paused, half haughty, half irresolute.

'Willy knows his way about the portfolios much better than I do.'

Marsworth came nearer, and leaning one hand on the table between them,
bent over to her. He was smiling, but there was emotion in his look.

'Willy is looking after these people. Won't you?'

Cicely considered.

'All right!' she said carelessly, at last, and led the way.

CHAPTER XV

The studio was empty. A wood fire burnt on the wide hearth, making a
pleasant glow in the wintry twilight. Cicely seated herself on the end
of a sofa, crossed her feet, and took out a cigarette. But to
Marsworth's intense relief she had taken off the helmet-like erection
she called a hat, and her black curly hair strayed as it pleased about
her brow and eyes.

'Well?' she said, at last, looking at him coolly. Marsworth could not
help laughing. He brought a chair, and placed it where he could see her
from below, as he lay back in it, his hands behind his head.

'Of course, you don't want to look at the portfolio,' she resumed, 'that
was your excuse. You want to tell me of your engagement to Miss
Stewart.'

Marsworth laughed again. Her ear caught what seemed to be a note of
triumph.

'Make haste, please!' she said, breathing quickly. 'There isn't very
much time.'

His face changed. He sat up, and held out his hand to her.

'Dear Cicely, I want you to do something for me.'

But she put her own behind her back.

'Have you been quarrelling already? Because if you want me to make it
up, that really isn't my vocation.'

He was silent a moment surveying her. Then he said quietly--'I want you
to help me. I want you to be kind to that little girl.'

'Daisy Stewart? Thank you. But I've no gift at all for mothering babes!