Then suddenly her expression changed.
'Isn't that Cicely's voice?' She motioned towards the garden.
'I daresay. I sent on the motor to meet her at Windermere. She's been in town for two or three weeks, selling at Red Cross Bazaars and things. And by George!—isn't that Marsworth?'
He sprang up to look, and verified his guess. The tall figure on the lawn with Cicely and Hester was certainly Marsworth. He and Nelly looked at each other, and Nelly smiled.
'You know Cicely and I have become great friends?' she said shyly. 'It's so odd that I should call her Cicely—but she makes me.'
'She treats you nicely?—at last?'
'She's awfully good to me,' said Nelly, with emphasis. 'I used to be so afraid of her.'
'What wrought the miracle?'
But Nelly shook her head, and would not tell.
'I had a letter from Marsworth a week ago,' said Farrell reflecting—'asking how and where we all were. I told him I was tied and bound to Carton—no chance of getting away for ages—but that Cicely had kicked over the traces and gone up to London for a month. Then he sent a post-card to say that he was coming up for a fortnight's treatment, and would go to his old quarters at the Rectory. Ah!—'