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was quite extraordinarily
pretty--prettier than ever. While the sister was slowly putting on her hat
before the only mirror the sitting-room possessed, she was keenly
conscious of the two figures near the window, of the man in khaki
sitting on the arm of Nelly's chair, holding her hand, and looking down
upon her, of Nelly's flushed cheek and bending head. What a baby she
looked!--scarcely seventeen. Yet she was really twenty-one--old
enough, by a long way, to have done better for herself than this! Oh,
George, in himself, was well enough. If he came back from the war, his
new-made sister-in-law supposed she would get used to him in time.
Bridget however did not find it easy to get on with men, especially
young men, of whom she knew very few. For eight or ten years now,
she had looked upon them chiefly as awkward and inconvenient facts in
women's lives. Before that time, she could remember a few silly
feelings on her own part, especially with regard to a young clerk of her
father's, who had made love to her up to the very day when he
shamefacedly told her that he was already engaged, and would soon be
married. That event had been a shock to her, and had made her cautious
and suspicious towards men ever since. Her life was now full of quite
other interests--incoherent and changeable, but strong while they lasted.
Nelly's state of bliss awoke no answering sympathy in her.
'Well, good-bye, Nelly,' she said, when she had put on her
things--advancing towards them, while the lieutenant rose to his feet. 'I
expect Mrs. Weston will make you comfortable. I ordered in all the
things for to-morrow.'
'Everything's _charming_!' said Nelly, as she put her arms round her
sister. 'It was awfully good of you to see to it all. Will you come over to
lunch to-morrow? We might take you somewhere.'
'Oh, don't bother about me! You won't want me. I'll look in some time.

I've got a lot of work to do.'
Nelly withdrew her arms. George Sarratt surveyed his sister-in-law
with curiosity.
'Work?' he repeated, with his pleasant, rather puzzled smile.
'What are you doing now, Bridget?' said Nelly, softly, stroking the
sleeve of her sister's jacket, but really conscious only of the man beside
her.
'Reading some proof-sheets for a friend,' was the rather short reply, as
Bridget released herself.
'Something dreadfully difficult?' laughed Nelly.
'I don't know what you mean by difficult,' said Bridget ungraciously,
looking for her gloves. 'It's psychology--that's all. Lucy Fenn's bringing
out another volume of essays.'
'It sounds awful!' said George Sarratt, laughing. 'I wish I knew what
psychology was about. But can't you take a holiday?--just this week?'
He looked at her rather gravely. But Bridget shook her head, and again
said good-bye. George Sarratt took her downstairs, and saw her off on
her bicycle. Then he returned smiling, to his wife.
'I say, Bridget makes me feel a dunce! Is she really such a learned
party?'
Nelly's dark eyes danced a little. 'I suppose she is--but she doesn't stick
to anything. It's always something different. A few months ago, it was
geology; and we used to go out for walks with a hammer and a bag.
Last year it was _the_-ology! Our poor clergyman, Mr. Richardson,
was no match for Bridget at all. She could always bowl him over.'
'Somehow all the "ologies" seem very far away--don't they?' murmured
Sarratt, after they had laughed together. They were standing at the
window again, his arm close round her, her small dark head pressed

against him. There was ecstasy in their nearness to each other--in the
silver beauty of the lake--in the soft coming of the June evening; and in
that stern fact itself that in one short week, he would have left her,
would be facing death or mutilation, day after day, in the trenches on
the Ypres salient. While he held her, all sorts of images flitted through
his mind--of which he would not have told her for the world--horrible
facts of bloody war. In eight months he had seen plenty of them. The
signs of them were graven on his young face, on his eyes, round which
a slight permanent frown, as of perplexity, seemed to have settled, and
on his mouth which was no longer naif and boyish, but would always
drop with repose into a hard compressed line.
Nelly looked up.
'Everything's far away'--she whispered--'but this--and you!' He kissed
her upturned lips--and there was silence.
Then a robin singing outside in the evening hush, sent a message to
them. Nelly with an effort drew herself away.
'Shan't we go out? We'll tell Mrs. Weston to put supper on the table,
and we can come in when we like. But I'll just unpack