'Dear!--there weren't any manners or morals a million years before the Flood.'
'It's all very well to laugh, but if you only knew how _impossible_ that man is!'
'Then why not get a Sunday free from him?'
Cicely flushed against her will, and said nothing. Nelly's black eyes observed her with as much sarcasm in their sweetness as she dared to throw into them. She changed her tone.
'Don't go to the cottage this afternoon, Cicely.'
'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.'
'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.
'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.'
'Certainly!' said Cicely, with a clearing brow. 'Don't let's talk any more about it. Do give me some lunch. I'm ravenous. Ah, here's your sister!'
For through a back window looking on what had once been a farm-yard, and was now a small garden, Cicely saw Bridget emerge from the rebuilt outhouse where an impromptu study had been devised for her, and walk towards the farm.
'I suppose she's been working too hard,' said Nelly, remorsefully. 'I wish I knew what it was all about.'
'Well, I can tell you'--said Cicely laughing and whispering--'that Willy doesn't think it's about anything in particular!'