'Why should she? Somebody's got to think about psychology,' was the sharp reply. 'You can't let everything go, because there's a war.' 'I see! You remind me of a man I know, who's translating Dante. He's just over military age, and there he sits in a Devonshire valley, with a pile of books. I happen to know a particular department in a public office that's a bit hustled for want of men, and I suggested that he should lend a hand. He said it was his business to keep culture going!' 'Well?' said Bridget. The challenging obstinacy of her look daunted him. He laughed. 'You think it natural--and right--to take the war like that?' 'Well, I don't see who's got a right to interfere with you if you do,' she said, stiffly. Then, however, it occurred even to her obtuse and self-centred perception, that she was saying something unexpected and distasteful to a man who was clearly a great friend of the Farrells, and therefore a member of the world she envied. So she changed the subject. 'Does Miss Farrell ever do any real nursing?' she asked abruptly. Captain Marsworth's look became, in a moment, reserved and cold. 'She's always ready to do anything for any of us!' Then the speaker rose. 'I see Sir William's preparing to take your sister into the gardens. You certainly ought to see them. They're very famous.' * * * * * The party streamed out into the paths leading through a wood, and past a series of water-lily pools to the walled gardens. Sir William walked in front with Nelly. 'My brother's new craze!' said Cicely in the ear of the General beside her, who being of heroic proportions had to stoop some way to hear the remark. He followed the direction of her eyes. 'What, that little woman? A vision! Is it only looks, or is there something besides?' Cicely shrugged her shoulders. 'I don't know. I haven't found out. The sister's plain, disagreeable, stupid.' 'She looks rather clever.' 'Doesn't that show she's stupid? Nobody ought to look clever. Do you admire Mrs. Sarratt?' 'Can one help it? Or are you going also to maintain,' laughed the general, 'that no one can be beautiful who looks it?' 'One _could_ maintain it--easily. The best kind of beauty has always to be discovered. What do you think, Captain Marsworth?' She turned--provokingly--to the soldier on her left hand. 'About beauty?' He looked up listlessly. 'I've no idea. The day's too hot.' Cicely eyed him. 'You're tired!' she said peremptorily. 'You've been doing too much. You ought to go and rest.' He smiled, and standing back he let them pass him. Turning into a side path he disappeared towards the hospital. 'Poor old fellow!--he still looks very delicate,' said the General. 'How is he really getting on?' 'The arm's improving. He's having massage and electricity. Sometimes he seems perfectly well,' said Cicely. An oddly defiant note had crept into the last sentence.