As he spoke, he made a hasty mental note that Cicely would have to be coached in her part.
Nelly examined the object. It was a luxurious adjustable couch, covered in flowery chintz, with a reading-desk, and well supplied with the softest cushions.
She laughed, but there was rather a flutter in her laugh.
'It's awfully kind of Cicely. But you know—'
Her eyes turned on Farrell with a sudden insistence. Hester had just left the room, and her distant voice—with other voices—could be heard in the garden.
'—You know you mustn't—all of you—spoil me so, any more. I've got my life to face. You mean it so kindly—but—'
She sank into a chair by the window that Farrell had placed for her, and her aspect struck him painfully. There was so much weakness in it; and yet a touch of fierceness.
'I've got my life to face,' she repeated—'and you mustn't, Sir
William—you mustn't let me get too dependent on you—and Cicely—and
Hester. Be my friend—my true friend—and help me—'
She bent forward, and her pale lips just breathed the rest—
'Help me—to endure hardness! That's what I want—for George's sake—and my own. I must find some work to do. In a few months perhaps I might be able to teach—but there are plenty of things I could do now. I want to be just—neglected a little—treated as a normal person!'