'Don't you believe me when I say I want to do some work?'
'Not much. So I have offended you?'
His look changed, became grave—touched with compunction.
'Miss Farrell, I oughtn't to have been talking like this. You and Willy have been awfully good to me.'
'And then you call me "Miss Farrell"!' she cried, passionately—'when you know very well that you've called me Cicely for years.'
'Hush!' said Marsworth suddenly, 'what was that?'
He turned back towards Rydal. On the shore path, midway between them and the little bay at the eastern end of the lake, where Farrell and Nelly Sarratt had been sitting, were Hester Martin and Bridget. They too had turned round, arrested in their walk. Beyond them, at the edge of the water, Farrell could be seen beckoning. And a little way behind him on the slope stood a boy with a bicycle.
'He is calling us,' said Marsworth, and began to run.
Hester Martin was already running—Bridget too.
But Hester and Marsworth outstripped the rest. Farrell came to meet them.