George knows it.' She looked up at him. He smiled and shook his head.

'I have a cottage there,' said Farrell, addressing Sarratt. 'Wordsworth
said it was like Nemi. It isn't:--but it's beautiful all the same. I
wish you would bring your wife there to tea with me one day before you
go? There is an old woman who looks after me. This view is fine'--he
pointed to the window--'but I think mine is finer.'

'Thank you,' said Sarratt, rather formally--'but I am afraid our days
are getting pretty full.'

'Of course, of course!' said Sir William, smiling. 'I only meant, if you
happened to be walking in that direction and want a rest. I have a
number of drawings there--my own and other people's, which Mrs. Sarratt
might care to see--sometime. You go on Saturday?'

'Yes. I'm due to rejoin by Monday.'

Farrell's expression darkened.

'You see what keeps me?' he said, sharply, striking his left knee with
the flat of his hand. 'I had a bad fall, shooting in Scotland, years
ago--when I was quite a lad. Something went wrong in the knee-cap. The
doctors muffed it, and I have had a stiff knee ever since. I daresay
they'd give me work at the War Office--or the Admiralty. Lots of fellows
I know who can't serve are doing war-work of that kind. But I can't
stand office work--never could. It makes me ill, and in a week of it I
am fit to hang myself. I live out of doors. I've done some
recruiting--speaking for the Lord Lieutenant. But I can't speak worth a
cent--and I do no good. No fellow ever joined up because of my