towards it.
Bridget had a clear view of them, herself unseen behind Mrs. Weston's
muslin blinds. A girl was in front, with a young man in khaki, a
convalescent officer, to judge from his frail look and hollow eyes. The
girl was exactly like the fashion-plate in the morning's paper. She wore
a very short skirt and Zouave jacket in grey cloth, high-heeled grey
boots, with black tips and gaiters, a preposterous little hat perched on
one side of a broad white forehead, across which the hair was parted
like a boy's, and an ostrich plume on the top of the hat, which nodded
and fluttered so extravagantly that the face beneath almost escaped the
spectator's notice. Yet it was on the whole a handsome face, audacious,
like its owner's costume, and with evident signs--for Bridget Cookson's
sharp eyes--of slight make-up.

Miss Cookson knew who she was. She had seen her in the neighbouring
town that morning, and had heard much gossip about her. She was Miss
Farrell, of Carton Hall, and that gentleman coming down the hill more
slowly behind her was no doubt her brother Sir William.

Lame? That of course was the reason why he was not in the army. It was
not very conspicuous, but still quite definite. A stiff knee, Miss
Cookson supposed--an accident perhaps--some time ago. Lucky for him!--on
any reasonable view. Bridget Cookson thought the war 'odious,' and gave
no more attention to it than she could help. It had lasted now nearly a
year, and she was heartily sick of it. It filled the papers with
monotonous news which tired her attention--which she did not really try
to understand. Now she supposed she would have to understand it. For
George, her new brother-in-law, was sure to talk a terrible amount of
shop.

Sir William was very tall certainly, and good-looking. He had a short
pointed beard, a ruddy, sunburnt complexion, blue eyes and broad
shoulders--the common points of the well-born and landowning
Englishman. Bridget looked at him with a mixture of respect and
hostility. To be rich was to be so far interesting; still all such
persons, belonging to a world of which she knew nothing, were in her
eyes 'swells,' and gave themselves airs; a procedure on their part,
which would be stopped when the middle and lower classes were powerful
enough to put them in their place. It was said, however, that this
particular man was rather a remarkable specimen of his kind--didn't
hunt--didn't preserve--had trained as an artist, and even exhibit