important? Not it! But I'm going to be as
good as good. You'll see.'

And when Bridget appeared, Cicely did indeed behave herself with
remarkable decorum. Her opinion was that Nelly's strange sister had
grown more unlike other people than ever since she had last seen her.
She seemed to be in a perpetual brown study, which was compatible,
however, with a curious watchfulness which struck Cicely particularly.
She was always aware of any undercurrent in the room--of anyone going in
or out--of persons passing in the road. At lunch she scarcely opened her
lips, but Cicely was all the time conscious of being observed. After
luncheon Bridget got up abruptly, and said she was going down to
Grasmere to post a letter.

'Oh, then,' said Nelly--'you can ask if there are any for me.'

For there was no delivery at the farm on Sunday morning. Bridget nodded,
and they soon saw her emerge from the farm gate and take the Grasmere
road.

'I must say your sister seems greatly to prefer her own company to
ours,' said Cicely, lighting her cigarette.

Again Nelly looked distressed.

'She was always like that,' she said at last. 'It doesn't really mean
anything.'

'Do I know you well enough to ask whether you get on with her?'

Nelly coloured. 'I try my best'--she said, rather despairingly. Then she
added--'she does all sorts of things for me that I'm too lazy to do for
myself!'

'I believe she likes Willy better than most people!' laughed Cicely.
'I'm not suggesting, please, that she has designs upon him. But she is
certainly more forthcoming to him than to anybody else, isn't she?'

Nelly did not reply. The remark only clouded her look still more. For
her inner mind was perfectly aware of Bridget's attitude towards William
Farrell, and understood it only too well. She knew by this time, past
any doubt, that Bridget was hungry for the Farrell wealth, and was
impatient with herself as a little fool who had not yet made certain of
it. If she stuck to her purpose--if she went away and cut off all
communication with Carton--Bridget would probably quarrel with her for
good.

Would she stick to her purpose? Her mind was miserably swaying to and
fro. She felt morally as she had once felt--physically--on a summer
afternoon long before, when she, who could not swim, had gone
imperceptibly out of her depth, while bathing, and had become suddenly
aware of a seaward current, carrying her away. No help was near. For
five minutes, which had