'Oh yes. My sister will be with me. We know the Lakes very well.' 'Staying through the summer, I suppose?' 'I shan't want to move--if the war goes on. We haven't any home of our own--yet.' She had seated herself, and spoke with the self-possession which belongs to those who know themselves fair to look upon. But there seemed to be no coquetry about her--no consciousness of a male to be attracted. All her ways were very gentle and childish, and in her white dress she made the same impression on Farrell as she had on Bridget, of extreme--absurd--youthfulness. He guessed her age about nineteen, perhaps younger. 'I'm afraid the war will go on,' he said, kindly. 'We are only now just finding out our deficiencies.' Nelly sighed. 'I know--it's _awful_ how we want guns and shells! My husband says it makes him savage to see how we lose men for want of them. _Why_ are we so short? Whose fault is it?' A spot of angry colour had risen in her cheek. It was the dove defending her mate. The change was lovely, and Farrell, with his artist's eye, watched it eagerly. But he shook his head. 'It's nobody's fault. It's all on such a scale--unheard of! Nobody could have guessed before-hand--unless like Germany, we had been preparing for years to rob and murder our neighbours. Well, Mrs. Sarratt, I must be going on. But I wanted to say, that if we could do anything for you--please command us. We live about twenty miles from here. My sister hopes she may come and see you. And we have a big library at Carton. If there are any books you want--' 'Oh, how _very_ kind of you!' said Nelly gratefully. She had risen and was standing beside him, looking at him with her dark, frank eyes. 'But indeed I shall get on very well. There's a war workroom in Manchester, which will send me work. And I shall try and help with the sphagnum moss. There's a notice up near here, asking people to help. 'And perhaps'--she laughed and colored--'I shall try to sketch a little. I can't do it a bit--but it amuses me.' 'Oh, you _draw_?' said Farrell, with a smile. Then, looking round him, he noticed a portfolio on the table, with a paint box beside it. 'May I look?' With rather red cheeks, Nelly showed her performances. She knew very well, being accustomed to follow such things in the newspapers, that Sir William Farrell had exhibited both in London and Manchester, and was much admired by some of the critics. Farrell twisted his mouth over them a good deal, considering them carefully. 'Yes, I see--I see exactly where you are. Not bad at all, some of them. I could lend you some things which would help you I think. Ah, here is your husband.' George Sarratt entered, looking in some surprise at their very prompt visitor, and a little inclined to stand on his guard against a patronage that might be troublesome. But Farrell explained himself so apologetically that the young man could only add his very hearty thanks to his wife's.