seemed five years, she had wrestled against the
deadly force, which if her girlish strength had been a fraction less,
would have swept her out, a lifeless plaything to the open sea.
Spiritually, it was the same now. Farrell's will, and--infinitely less
important, but still, to be reckoned with--Bridget's will, were pressing
her hard. She did not know if she could keep her footing.

Meanwhile Cicely, in complete ignorance of the new and agonised tension
in Nelly's mind, was thinking only of her own affairs. As soon as her
after-luncheon cigarette was done, she sprang up and began to put on her
hat.

'So you _are_ going to the cottage?' said Nelly.

'Certainly. How do you like my boots?'

She held up one for inspection.

'I don't like them!'

'Fast, you think? Ah, wait till you see my next costume! High Russian
boots, delicious things, up to there!' Cicely indicated a point above
the knee, not generally reached by the female boot--'hand-painted and
embroidered--with tassels--you know!--corduroy trousers!'

'Cicely!--you won't!'

'Shan't I--and a pink jersey, the new shade? I saw a friend of mine in
this get-up, last week. Ripping! Only she had red hair, which completed
it. Perhaps I might dye mine!'

They sallied forth into a mild winter afternoon. Nelly would have
avoided the cottage and Farrell if she could, but Cicely had her own way
as usual. Presently they turned into a side lane skirting the tarn, from
which the cottage and its approaches could be seen, at a distance. From
the white-pillared porch, various figures were emerging, four in all.

Cicely came to a stop.

'There, you see!' she said, in her sharpest voice--'Look there!' For two
of the figures, whom it was easy to identify as Captain Marsworth and
Miss Stewart, diverging from the other pair, went off by themselves in
the direction of Skelwith, with a gay wave of the hand to the old Rector
and Farrell left behind.

Cicely's sudden scarlet ebbed in a moment, leaving her quite white. She
walked on with difficulty, her eyes on the ground. Nelly dared not
address her, or slip a sympathising hand into hers. And it was too late
to retreat. Farrell had perceived them, and he and his companion came
towards them. Cicely pulled herself rapidly together.

Nelly too had need of a minute or two's recollection before Farrell
joined them. He and she were still to meet as usual, while meeting was
possible--wasn't that how it stood? After all, her new plans