'That I don't know what a splendid creature she is, really?' said Marsworth with increasing agitation. 'But I do know it! I know it up and down. Why everybody--except those she dislikes!--at that hospital, adores her. She's wearing herself out at the work. None of us are fit to black her boots. But if one ever tries to tell her so--my hat!' 'Perhaps she doesn't like being praised either,' said Nelly softly. 'Perhaps she thinks--an old friend--should take it all for granted.' 'Good Lord!' said Marsworth holding his head in desperation--'whatever I do is wrong! Dear Mrs. Sarratt!--look here--I must speak up for myself. You know how Cicely has taken of late to being intolerably rude to anybody she thinks is my friend. She castigates me through them. That poor little girl, Daisy Stewart--why she's ready at any moment to worship Cicely! But Cicely tramples on her--_you_ know how she does it--and if I interfere, I'm made to wish I had never been born! At the present moment, Cicely won't speak to me. There was some silly shindy at a parish tea last week--by the way, she's coming to you to-day?' 'She arrives for lunch,' said Nelly, looking at the clock. 'And the Stewarts are coming to the cottage in the afternoon!' said Marsworth in despair. 'Can you keep her away?' 'I'll try--but you know it's not much good trying to manage Cicely.' 'Don't I know it! I return to my first question--does she care a hapo'rth?' Nelly was looking dreamily into the fire. 'You mean--does she care enough to give up her ways and take to yours?' 'Yes, I suppose I do mean that,' he said, with sudden seriousness. Nelly shook her head, smiling. 'I don't know! But--Cicely's worth a deal of trouble.' He assented with a mixture of fervour and depression. 'We've known each other since we were boy and girl. That's what makes the difficulty, perhaps. We know each other too well. When she was a child of fourteen, I was already in the Guards, and I used to try and tackle her--because no one else would. Her father was dead. Her mother had no influence with her; and Willy was too lazy. So I tried my hand. And I find myself doing the same thing now. But of course it's fatal--it's fatal!' Nelly tried to cheer him up, but she was not herself very hopeful. She, perceived too clearly the martinet in him and the rebel in Cicely. If something were suddenly to throw them together, some common interest or emotion, each might find the other's heart in a way past undoing. On the other hand the jarring habit, once set up, has a way of growing worse, and reducing everything else to dust and ashes. Finally she wound up with a timid but emphatic counsel. 'Please--please--don't be sarcastic.' He looked injured. 'I never am!' Nelly laughed. 'You don't know when you are. And be very nice to her this afternoon.' 'How can I, if she shews me at once that I'm unwelcome? You haven't answered my question.'