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Marsworth's mouth twitched but he said nothing. Then Hester, perceiving that the atmosphere was stormy, started some of the usual subjects that relieve tension; the weather the possibility of a rush of Easter tourists to the Lakes the daffodils that were beginning to make beauty in some sheltered places.
I want you to be kind to that little girl. 'Daisy Stewart? Thank you. But I've no gift at all for mothering babes! Besides she'll now have all the advice, and all the kindness she wants. Marsworth's lips twitched. 'Yes, that's true if you and I can help her out. Cicely! aren't you a great friend of Sir John Raine?
And lighting another cigarette, Cicely looked at her brother with mocking eyes. Farrell reddened a little, but kept his temper. 'In a week or two I should think, you might ask her, when she's got over her husband's going away. 'They get over it very soon in general, said Cicely coolly. 'Not that sort. The voice was Captain Marsworth's. Cicely appeared to take no notice.
Then, however, it occurred even to her obtuse and self-centred perception, that she was saying something unexpected and distasteful to a man who was clearly a great friend of the Farrells, and therefore a member of the world she envied. So she changed the subject. 'Does Miss Farrell ever do any real nursing? she asked abruptly. Captain Marsworth's look became, in a moment, reserved and cold.
Cicely Farrell apparently forgot them entirely. And in August and the first part of September she too, according to Captain Marsworth's information, had been away, paying visits. On the morning of September 26th, the Manchester papers which reached the cottage with the post contained columns of telegrams describing the British attack at Loos, and the French 'push' in Champagne.
Marsworth's ethical enthusiasms and resentments, the prophetic temper that was growing upon him in relation to the war, his impatience of idleness and frivolity and 'slackness, of all modes of life that were not pitched in a key worthy of that continuous sacrifice of England's youngest and noblest that was going on perpetually across the Channel: these traits in him made it very easy to understand why, after years of philandering with Cicely Farrell, he was now, apparently, alienated from her, and provoked by her.
Yet she had treated the Sarratts cavalierly to begin with, just because they were outsiders, and because 'Willy' was making such a fuss with them; for she was almost as easily jealous in her brother's case as in Marsworth's.
Cicely seated herself on the end of a sofa, crossed her feet, and took out a cigarette. But to Marsworth's intense relief she had taken off the helmet-like erection she called a hat, and her black curly hair strayed as it pleased about her brow and eyes. 'Well? she said, at last, looking at him coolly. Marsworth could not help laughing.
'What at? Is she still learning Spanish? asked Marsworth, smiling, as he followed Nelly into the little white drawing-room. 'I don't know, said Nelly, after a moment, in a tone of depression. 'Bridget doesn't tell me. The corners of Marsworth's strong mouth shewed amusement.
It was Marsworth's odd misfortune that he should have happened to fall in love with a young woman who had practically none of the qualities that he naturally and spontaneously admired in the sex. It was, however, about that young woman that he had come to talk. For he was well aware of Nelly's growing intimacy with Cicely, and had lately begun to look upon that as his last hope.
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