'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.
'Of course, the merest device on that girl's part! She arranged it all.'
'I really don't think she did.'
'Ah, well, you haven't seen what's been going on. A more shameless pursuit——'
Cicely stopped abruptly. There was a sudden sparkle in Nelly's look, which seemed to shew that the choice of the word 'pursuit' had been unlucky.
Miss Farrell quieted down.
'Of course,' she said, with a very evident attempt to recapture whatever dignity might be left on the field, 'neither Willy nor I like to see an old friend throwing himself away on a little pink and white nonentity like Daisy Stewart. We can't be expected to smile upon it.'
'But I understand, from one of the parties principally concerned, that there is really nothing in it!' said Nelly, smiling.
'One of the perjuries I suppose at which Jove laughs!' said Cicely getting up, and hastily rearranging her short curls with the help of various combs, before the only diminutive looking-glass the farm sitting-room provided. 'However, we shall see what happens. I have no doubt Miss Daisy has arranged the proposal scene for this very afternoon. We shall be in for the last act of the play.'
'Then you are going to the cottage?'