rdent sympathy which sprang easily from his
quick, emotional temperament, and made it possible for him to force his
way rapidly into intimacy, where he desired to be intimate. But Nelly
shrank into herself. She put the drawing away, and did not seem to care
to look at any more. Farrell wished he had left his remark unspoken, and
finding that he had somehow extinguished her smiles and her talk, he
relieved her of his company, and went away to talk to Sarratt and
Captain Marsworth. As soon as tea was over, Nelly beckoned to her
husband.

'Are you going so soon?' said Hester Martin, who had been unobtrusively
mothering her, since Farrell left her--'When may I come and see you?'

'To-morrow?' said Nelly vaguely, looking up. 'George hoped you would
come, before he goes. There are--there are only three days.'

'I will come to-morrow,' said Miss Martin, touching Nelly's hand softly.
The cold, small fingers moved, as though instinctively, towards her, and
took refuge in her warm capacious hand. Then Nelly whispered to
Bridget--appealingly--

'I want to go, Bridget.'

Bridget frowned with annoyance. Why should Nelly want to go so soon? The
beauty and luxury of the cottage--the mere tea-table with all its
perfect appointments of fine silver and china, the multitude of cakes,
the hot-house fruit, the well-trained butler--all the signs of wealth
that to Nelly were rather intimidating, and to Sarratt--in
war-time--incongruous and repellent, were to Bridget the satisfaction of
so many starved desires. This ease and lavishness; the best of
everything and no trouble to get it; the 'cottage' as perfect as the
palace;--it was so, she felt, that life should be lived, to be really
worth living. She envied the Farrells with an intensity of envy. Why
should some people have so much and others so little? And as she watched
Sir William's attentions to Nelly, she said to herself, for the
hundredth time, that but for Nelly's folly, she could easily have
captured wealth like this. Why not Sir William himself? It would not
have been at all unlikely that they should come across him on one of
their Westmorland holidays. The thought of their dingy Manchester rooms,
of the ceaseless care and economy that would be necessary for their
joint menage when Sarratt was gone, filled her with disgust. Their
poverty was wholly unnecessary--it was Nelly's silly fault. She felt at
times as though she hated her brother-in-law, who had so selfishly
crossed th