re, shrugged his shoulders. At that moment
he knew no passion but the passion for the regiment and his men, to whom
he couldn't get back, because his 'beastly constitution' wouldn't let
him recover as quickly as other men did. What did women matter?--when
the 'push' might be on, any day.

Cicely Farrell continued to chaff her brother, who took it
placidly--fortified by a big cigar.

'And if she'd been plain, Willy, you'd never have so much as known she
was there! Did you tell her you haunted these parts?'

He shook his head.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the bride and bridegroom had been met on the lodging-house
stairs by the bride's sister, who allowed herself to be kissed by the
bridegroom, and hugged by the bride. Her lack of effusion, however, made
little impression on the newcomers. They were in that state of happiness
which transfigures everything round it; they were delighted with the
smallest things; with the little lodging-house sitting room, its windows
open to the lake and river; with its muslin curtains, very clean and
white, its duster-rose too, just outside the window; with Mrs. Weston,
who in her friendly flurry had greeted the bride as 'Miss Nelly,' and
was bustling to get the tea; even, indeed, with Bridget Cookson's few
casual attentions to them. Mrs. Sarratt thought it 'dear' of Bridget to
have come to meet them, and ordered tea for them, and put those
delicious roses in her room--

'I didn't!' said Bridget, drily. 'That was Milly. It didn't occur to
me.'

The bride looked a little checked. But then the tea came in, a real
Westmorland meal, with its toasted bun, its jam, and its 'twist' of new
bread; and Nelly Sarratt forgot everything but the pleasure of making
her husband eat, of filling his cup for him, of looking sometimes
through the window at that shining lake, beside which she and George
would soon be roaming--for six long days. Yes, and nights too. For there
was a moon rising, which would be at the full in two or three days.
Imagination flew forward, as she leant dreamily back in her chair when
the meal was over, her eyes on the landscape. They two alone--on that
warm summer lake--drifting in the moonlight--heart against heart, cheek
against cheek. A shiver ran through her, which was partly passion,
partly a dull fear. But she banished fear. Nothing--_nothing_ should
spoil their week together.

'Darling!' said her husband, who had been watching her--'You're not