Suddenly Marsworth paused in front of Cicely, intercepting her as she was making for the door.
'Would you be an angel, Miss Farrell, and help me to find a particular Turner drawing I want to see? Willy says it's in the studio somewhere.'
Cicely paused, half haughty, half irresolute.
'Willy knows his way about the portfolios much better than I do.'
Marsworth came nearer, and leaning one hand on the table between them, bent over to her. He was smiling, but there was emotion in his look.
'Willy is looking after these people. Won't you?'
'All right!' she said carelessly, at last, and led the way.
The studio was empty. A wood fire burnt on the wide hearth, making a pleasant glow in the wintry twilight. Cicely seated herself on the end of a sofa, crossed her feet, and took out a cigarette. But to Marsworth's intense relief she had taken off the helmet-like erection she called a hat, and her black curly hair strayed as it pleased about her brow and eyes.
'Well?' she said, at last, looking at him coolly. Marsworth could not help laughing. He brought a chair, and placed it where he could see her from below, as he lay back in it, his hands behind his head.
'Of course, you don't want to look at the portfolio,' she resumed, 'that was your excuse. You want to tell me of your engagement to Miss Stewart.'
Marsworth laughed again. Her ear caught what seemed to be a note of triumph.
'Make haste, please!' she said, breathing quickly. 'There isn't very much time.'
His face changed. He sat up, and held out his hand to her.
'Dear Cicely, I want you to do something for me.'
'Have you been quarrelling already? Because if you want me to make it up, that really isn't my vocation.'
He was silent a moment surveying her. Then he said quietly--'I want you to help me. I want you to be kind to that little girl.'
'Daisy Stewart? Thank you. But I've no gift at all for mothering babes! Besides--she'll now have all the advice, and all the kindness she wants.'
'Yes, that's true--if you and I can help her out. Cicely!--aren't you a great friend of Sir John Raine?'
He named one of the chiefs of the Army Medical Department, a man whose good word was the making of any aspirant in the field he ruled.
Cicely looked rather darkly at her questioner.