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.'