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Owen was now surrounded by such of Farrell's children as were old enough to remember him; every one of whom he shook hands with, and kissed. "Why, thin, the Lord save my sowl, Bridget," said he, "are these the little bouchaleens an' colleens that were runnin' about my feet whin I was here afore? Well, to be sure! How they do shoot up! An' is this Atty?"
He was not at either of his offices, nor at Farrell's, but at each place successively Carton left a message which told the story and which he could hardly fail to receive soon. As Carton finished, Kennedy seemed to be emerging from a brown study. He rose slowly and put on his hat.
And Cicely seemed to see Nelly yielding unconsciously; unconsciously 'spoilt, and learning to depend on the 'spoiler. Why did Hester seem so anxious always about Farrell's influence with Nelly so ready to ward him off, if she could?
And she watched it with increasing pleasure, and increasing scorn of a certain recurrent uneasiness she had not been able to get rid of. Nothing could have been better than Farrell's manner to Ariadne.
Under the stimulus of Farrell's intelligence, she had become a close student of the war. She read much, and what she read, his living contact with men and affairs with that endless stream of wounded in particular, which passed through the Carton hospital and his graphic talk illumined for her.
"He's a great boss, but a queer one," he said to his wife. "It's a queer family all around. I wonder what's being cooked up now." As the time of Farrell's expected return drew near Pauline's despair and anger increased with every moment. When four o'clock struck she arose and walked nervously out to the garage to ask if any word had been received from Farrell. She found Owen there.
The anguish in her soul almost resented the break in the darkness. She was going to George; but George was dying, and while he had been lying there in his lonely suffering, she had been forgetting him, and betraying him. The recollection of Farrell's embrace overwhelmed her with a crushing sense of guilt. George indeed should never know. But that made no difference to her own misery.
Nelly's black eyes observed her with as much sarcasm in their sweetness as she dared to throw into them. She changed her tone. 'Don't go to the cottage this afternoon, Cicely. 'Why? The voice was peremptory. 'Well, because Nelly described Farrell's chance meeting with the Stewarts and the inevitable invitation. Cicely's flush deepened. But she tried to speak carelessly.
'I only meant, if you happened to be walking in that direction and want a rest. I have a number of drawings there my own and other people's, which Mrs. Sarratt might care to see sometime. You go on Saturday? 'Yes. I'm due to rejoin by Monday. Farrell's expression darkened. 'You see what keeps me? he said, sharply, striking his left knee with the flat of his hand.
His manner impressed the man; for a moment Farrell lingered, doubting, then impetuously offered his hand. "I'm hanged if I understand why," he said, "but somehow I believe you know what you're about. Good-night and and God be with you, Amber." The Virginian followed him to the doorway. Farrell's horse, a docile, well-trained animal, had come to the edge of the veranda to wait for his master.
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