ith her brother's plight,
and since her engagement to Marsworth had been announced it was
astonishing how much more ready Farrell had been to confide in her, and
she to be confided in.

But for her few days in France, however, with Nelly Sarratt, Marsworth
might still have had some wrestles to go through with Cicely. At the
very moment when Farrell's telephone message arrived, imploring her to
take charge of Nelly on her journey, Cicely was engaged in fresh
quarrelling with her long-suffering lover. But the spectacle of
Sarratt's death, and Nelly's agony, together with her own quick
divination of Nelly's inner mind, had worked profoundly on Cicely, and
Marsworth had never shewn himself a better fellow than in his complete
sympathy with her, and his eager pity for the Sarratts. 'I haven't the
heart to tease him'--Cicely had said candidly after her return to
England. 'He's been so horribly nice to me!' And the Petruchio having
once got the upper hand, the Katherine was--like her prototype--almost
overdoing it. The corduroy trousers, Russian boots, the flame-coloured
jersey actually arrived. Cicely looked at them wistfully and locked them
up. As to the extravagances that still remained, in hats, or skirts, or
head-dressing, were they to be any further reduced, Marsworth would
probably himself implore her not to be too suddenly reasonable. For,
without them, Cicely would be only half Cicely.

But his sister's engagement, perhaps, had only made Farrell feel more
sharply than ever the collapse of his own hopes. Three days after
Sarratt's death Nelly had written to him to give him George's dying
message, and to thank him on her own account for all that he had done
to help her journey. The letter was phrased as Nelly could not help
phrasing anything she wrote. Cicely, to whom Nelly dumbly shewed it,
thought it 'sweet.' But on Farrel's morbid state, it struck like ice,
and he had the greatest difficulty in writing a letter of sympathy, such
as any common friend must send her, in return. Every word seemed to him
either too strong or too weak. The poor Viking, indeed, had begun to
look almost middle-aged, and Cicely with a pang had discovered or
fancied some streaks of grey in the splendid red beard and curly hair.
At the same time her half-sarcastic sense perceived that he was far
better provided than Nelly, with the means of self-protection against
his trouble. 'Men always are,' thought Cicely--'they have so much more
interest