Cicely was beyond laughter, but she dabbed at her eyes. Tiddy continued:
“I know what upsets you, Cis. You have to do some of my old work; and they rag you a bit downstairs. And then you don’t rag back, but glump. You are glumping now.”
“I’m not. I suppose we’re different.”
“That’s your misfortune, not mine. I refuse to weep with you. ‘Weep, and you weep alone.’ Good old Ella got there with both feet.”
Cicely smiled faintly.
In due time Tiddy returned to the normal duties of a V.A.D.
Meanwhile Arthur Wilverley had been absent from home. He came back in March, burdened with fresh duties and lamenting the loss of his secretary, who had joined up.
“What I want,” he said to Cicely, “is a clever girl who can do typing and shorthand, and come and go when I want her. But she must have a head on her shoulders.”
A name flew into Cicely’s mind and out of her mouth.
“Agatha Farleigh.”