erry side-glance at him, unseen by
Bridget, interposed to prevent him from escorting Bridget downstairs.
She went herself. Most sisters would have dispensed with or omitted this
small attention; but Nelly always treated Bridget with a certain
ceremony. When she returned, she threw her arms round George's neck,
half laughing, and half inclined to cry.

'Oh, George, I do wish I had a nicer sister to give you!' But George had
entirely recovered himself.

'We shall get on perfectly!' he declared, kissing the soft head that
leant against him. 'Give me a little time, darling. She's new to
me!--I'm new to her.'

Nelly sighed, and went to put on her hat. In her opinion it was no more
easy to like Bridget after three years than three hours. It was certain
that she and George would never suit each other. At the same time Nelly
was quite conscious that she owed Bridget a good deal. But for the fact
that Bridget did the housekeeping, that Bridget saw to the investment of
their small moneys, and had generally managed the business of their
joint life, Nelly would not have been able to dream, and sketch, and
read, as it was her delight to do. It might be, as she had said to
Sarratt, that Bridget managed because she liked managing. All the same
Nelly knew, not without some prickings of conscience as to her own
dependence, that when George was gone, she would never be able to get on
without Bridget.

Into what a world of delight the two plunged when they set forth! The
more it rains in the Westmorland country, the more heavenly are the days
when the clouds forget to rain! There were white flocks of them in the
June sky as the new-married pair crossed the wooden bridge beyond the
garden, leading to the further side of the lake, but they were sailing
serene and sunlit in the blue, as though their whole business were to
dapple the hills with blue and violet shadows, or sometimes to throw a
dazzling reflection down into the quiet water. There had been rain,
torrential rain, just before the Sarratts arrived, so that the river was
full and noisy, and all the little becks clattering down the fell, in
their haste to reach the lake, were boasting to the summer air, as
though in forty-eight hours of rainlessness they would not be as dry and
dumb as ever again. The air was fresh, in spite of the Midsummer sun,
and youth and health danced in the veins of the lovers. And yet not
without a touch of something feverish, something abnormal, because