'It's the way people have—war or no war—when they're in love,' said
Hester Martin drily. 'And you—how often?'
'Every day. I haven't missed once. How could I?—when he wants me to write—when I hear so often!' And her free hand closed possessively, greedily, over the letters in her lap.
Hester Martin surveyed her thoughtfully.
'I wouldn't do war-work all day, if I were you,' she said at last. 'Why don't you go on with your sketching?'
'I was going to try this very afternoon. Sir William said he would give me a lesson,' was the listless reply.
'He's coming here?'
'He said he would be walking this way, if it was fine,' said Nelly, indifferently.
Both relapsed into silence. Then Miss Martin enquired after Bridget. The face beside her darkened a little.
'She's very well. She knows about the telegram. She thought I was a great goose to be so anxious. She's making an index now—for the book!'
'The psychology book?'