'There, you see!' she said, in her sharpest voice—'Look there!' For two of the figures, whom it was easy to identify as Captain Marsworth and Miss Stewart, diverging from the other pair, went off by themselves in the direction of Skelwith, with a gay wave of the hand to the old Rector and Farrell left behind.
Cicely's sudden scarlet ebbed in a moment, leaving her quite white. She walked on with difficulty, her eyes on the ground. Nelly dared not address her, or slip a sympathising hand into hers. And it was too late to retreat. Farrell had perceived them, and he and his companion came towards them. Cicely pulled herself rapidly together.
Nelly too had need of a minute or two's recollection before Farrell joined them. He and she were still to meet as usual, while meeting was possible—wasn't that how it stood? After all, her new plans could not be made in a moment. She had promised nothing; but he had promised—would she be able to hold him to it? Her heart trembled as he came nearer.
But he met her in a sunny mood, introducing her to the white-haired old clergyman, and watching Cicely with eyes that shewed a hidden amusement.
'The other two seemed to have some private business to discuss,' he said carelessly. 'So they've got rid of us for a while. They're walking round the other side of the tarn and will join us at the top of Red Bank. At least if you're up to a walk?'
He addressed Nelly, who could do nothing but assent, though it meant a tête-à-tête with him, while Cicely and the old Rector followed.
Mr. Stewart found Miss Farrell anything but an agreeable companion. He was not a shrewd observer, and the love-affairs especially of his fellow-creatures were always a surprise and a mystery to him. But he vaguely understood that his little granddaughter was afraid of Miss Farrell and did not get on with her. He, too, was afraid of Cicely and her sharp tongue, while her fantastic dress and her rouge put him in mind of passages in the prophet Ezekiel, the sacred author of whom he was at that moment making a special study with a view to a Cambridge University sermon. It would be terrible if Daisy were ever to take to imitating Miss Farrell. He was a little disturbed about Daisy lately. She had been so absent-minded, and sometimes—even—a little flighty. She had forgotten the day before, to look out some passages for him; and there was a rent in his old overcoat she had not mended. He was disagreeably conscious of it. And what could she have to say to Captain Marsworth? It was all rather odd—and annoying. He walked in a preoccupied silence.
Farrell and Nelly meanwhile were, it seemed, in no lack of conversation. He told her that he might possibly be going to France, in a week or two, for a few days. The Allied offensive on the Somme was apparently shutting down for the winter. 'The weather in October just broke everybody's heart, vile luck! Nothing to be done but to make the winter as disagreeable to the Boche as we can, and to go on piling up guns and shells for the spring. I'm going to look at hospitals at X—-' he named a great base camp—'and I daresay they'll let me have a run along some bit of the front, if there's a motor to be had.'
Nelly stopped abruptly. He could see the colour fluctuating in her delicate face.
'You're going to X—-? You—you might see Dr. Howson?'