But Bridget had noticed the voice and the clasped hands,--with irritation. Really, after a fortnight, they might have done with that kind of demonstrativeness. All the same, Nelly 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?'