"Oh dear, yes," said Carrissima. "What is more, she would make the same admission herself."

"A little barefaced," remarked Phoebe.

"Anyhow," Carrissima insisted, "I believe that Bridget simply fell in love with Jimmy, and that was why she altered her course."

"Rotten sentimentality!" exclaimed Lawrence. "The curse of the age. Oh, there's no doubt she was clever. She played her cards so well that she succeeded in deceiving the principal looker-on as well as her victim."

"Victim or not," said Carrissima, "I positively can't feel sorry for Jimmy."

"Neither can I," cried Lawrence. "I always find it difficult to pity a fool. Anyhow, I hope you have done with her," he added.

"Lawrence would not let me send Jimmy a present," said Phoebe.

"Certainly not," was the answer. "The whole mischief," he continued, facing his sister, "was brought about by the first visit you paid to Golfney Place."

"Oh well," said Carrissima, "there will scarcely be a question of my patronizing her in the future. You see, Mrs. Clynesworth will be a quite important personage."

"We have every reason to be thankful she isn't Mrs. Faversham," returned Lawrence. "For the rest, it's just the way of the world."

So he dismissed the topic, and a few minutes later Phoebe inquired whether Carrissima had seen anything of Mark during the last few days.

"He really looks ill," she insisted. "He was here yesterday, and I thought he had come to make an appointment to see the new carpet. He spoke about it the last time, but when I suggested we should go before you left England, he said he was afraid he should be too busy. I fancy he is bothered about Sir Wilford Scones."

Carrissima did not see him again before her departure, and she was absent with Colonel Faversham six weeks. As Lawrence had taken a cottage in the country for the benefit of Victor, Carrissima, on her return to Grandison Square, stood no chance of meeting Mark in Charteris Street. As a matter of fact, he did not cross her path again until after she came back from her usual round of country-house visits at the end of October, with the intention of settling down for what promised to prove a dreary winter.

Her former avocations had lost their zest; life seemed to have become flat, stale and unprofitable. She longed for some kind of change, although she knew not what. At Charteris Street, whither Phoebe had by this time returned, the only news of Mark was that he had spent six weeks mountain-climbing in Switzerland. Lawrence complained of his brother-in-law's neglect.

"Phoebe is his only sister," he said one afternoon, during the first week of November. "The least he might do is to come and see her now and then. I say nothing about myself."

"I have only seen Mark once for five minutes since he came back," added Phoebe.

"When was that?" asked Carrissima.

"Last week——"

"And," suggested Lawrence, "I don't imagine he would have taken the trouble then if he hadn't wanted you to do something for him."

"You see, Carrissima," Phoebe explained, "Dr. Bunbury's wife and daughter are coming on a visit to London for a few weeks. Mark has promised to play cicerone, and he is anxious I shall call and invite the Bunburys here. Of course I told him I should be quite pleased. By the bye," Phoebe added, "I met Sybil Clynesworth the other day. She said that Jimmy and his wife would soon be home."

"They are still living together," said Lawrence.

They had not returned to England since their wedding, and it seemed that Bridget had passed entirely out of Carrissima's life, after occupying a considerable space in it for many weeks. Whatever the future might prove concerning her influence over Jimmy, it certainly appeared that she had brought nothing but mischief upon the household in Grandison Square.

Colonel Faversham had never been quite the same man since that morning he went to Number 5, Golfney Place, and found that Bridget had departed. Signs of age had become suddenly visible; he devoted his life less to golf, and spent far more time at home—not an unmitigated advantage to his daughter.

As for Carrissima, she did her best to take a calm survey of the situation, but without being able to understand why Mark continued to sulk in his tent. If he really loved her, surely he would before now have admitted his own fault and made allowances for the momentary indiscretion which was provoked by Carrissima's knowledge of it.

As a matter of fact, Mark felt as deeply vexed with himself as with her. But for his own lamentable weakness, he might have proved more tolerant of Carrissima's shortcoming; the circumstance that his own withers were wrung, made a rapprochement less likely. There were moments when he wished that he had taken a different line from the beginning; but having already held aloof from Grandison Square so long, it became increasingly difficult to venture near the house.

Carrissima, who had not seen his face for several months, met him with Mrs. Bunbury and her daughter in Regent Street, and promptly came to the conclusion that his younger companion might prove quite dangerously attractive. At least, she presented a striking contrast to Bridget, being very quietly dressed, with dark hair, large "saucer" eyes, and a general appearance of demureness.

Phoebe had, as Carrissima knew, formed an exceedingly favourable opinion of Mary Bunbury, who had dined with her mother and Mark in Charteris Street. Carrissima wondered that she had not been invited to meet them, and realized that a year ago she would have been the first person to whom Mark appealed to help in their entertainment. Instead of taking advantage of the present encounter in Regent Street to introduce her, he passed on with a bow. His face did not wear a smile and Carrissima was left with the impression that she remained unforgiven. To tell the truth, his behaviour aroused rebellious feelings in her breast; because, after all, she was not the only or the original sinner.

So that each was going a separate way, Mark's (by no means disagreeable) leading him on innumerable expeditions with Mary Bunbury, when the god stepped out of the machine.



CHAPTER XXVII

'MRS. JIMMY'

Colonel Faversham set out one morning in November after prolonged hesitation. A year ago he would not have thought twice, but of late he had grown much more careful of himself. The day was misty and the air struck raw and cold. He made no protest when Carrissima suggested that he should wear a scarf, although after she had wound it around his neck he, somewhat irritably, rearranged it in order to expose his necktie.

"Bless me!" he exclaimed, with something of his former energy, "you seem to want to make me look like an infernal invalid. Thank goodness I haven't got to that yet by a long shot. Molly-coddling a man in this way!"

"I don't see much use in wearing a scarf if you tuck it down beneath your coat," said Carrissima.

"Who wants to wear one?" he demanded, pulling it off and flinging it on to the hall table. "I won't wear it. I won't be bothered and interfered with!"

He selected a walking-stick from the stand, but when Carrissima opened the door for him, returned to exchange it for an umbrella; at last, setting forth at a quarter to twelve, walking rather slowly in the direction of his club. As he made his way along Piccadilly Colonel Faversham came almost to a standstill. Good heavens! that must be Bridget coming towards him. He fixed his eye-glass and saw that he had not make a mistake; in fact, it was difficult to be mistaken. She was as becomingly dressed as ever, and carried an enormous muff, with a great many of some small animals' tails depending from it.

Colonel Faversham's thoughts at once flew back to that last time he had seen her in Golfney Place, when he had insisted that she should name the date for their marriage—a week or two hence, as he had egregiously hoped! And she had seemed to promise that she would gratify him when he came the following morning, and he arrived with exuberant anticipations only to find the bird flown! Everything stood out clearly in his mind, and now that she was within a few yards he wished he had not passed Half Moon Street, so that he might have slipped down the turning in order to avoid a meeting.

Had he done so in all probability Bridget would have pursued him! Quickening her pace she bore down upon the colonel with her right hand outstretched, while with the left she held the enormous muff. He had no alternative; it seemed inevitable that he should meet her half-way. Although he had always admired her, she had never appeared quite so enticing as this dull November morning; looking into his face with merry eyes, while yet the corners of her mouth were drawn down as if to express the penitence, which he knew that no one in the world could have been farther from feeling.

"Oh, Colonel Faversham, how delighted I am to see you again!" she cried, and the provoking part of it was that he could not avoid a sensation of pleasure on seeing her at closer quarters. He did not imagine for an instant that she wished to see him, although for the time her manner might carry conviction. "I have positively been longing to meet you," said Bridget.

"It is very kind to say so," muttered Colonel Faversham.

"And," she continued, with her eyes on his face, "how splendidly well you are looking!"

"Ah, you think I am?" he answered. "Well, thank Heaven, I feel pretty well. How long have you been in London?" he asked rather hastily, because no one could feel more anxious to omit any allusion to the painful past.

"Only a couple of days," said Bridget. "We had the loveliest time abroad, and the best of it was that I really knew my way about far better than Jimmy."

Well, Colonel Faversham, for his part, did not doubt that she knew her way about better than most people.

"Now, tell the truth!" she exclaimed, as they stood in the middle of the pavement, "don't you think you ought to feel immensely grateful to me?"

"Bless my soul, I had not thought of that!" he answered, with a laugh.

"Well, you can recognize the fact now it's pointed out to you. Admit you had a happy release, as they sometimes say in different circumstances."

"Now I have seen you again," said Colonel Faversham gallantly, "it becomes much more difficult than ever to believe anything of the sort."

"I hope," replied Bridget, "you mean to come and see me often. Jimmy will be delighted. We have taken the duckiest little furnished flat while we look about for a house of our own."

"You are not going to settle down in Upper Grosvenor Street?" suggested the colonel.

"Oh dear, no! We should never dream of disturbing Sybil, nor of living with her. You don't know what a good fellow Jimmy is! Now he has a wife to keep him up to the mark he will do the most wonderful and unexpected things. You will see! He is going to stand for Atlinghurst, and I assure you I intend to get him in. Don't you think I shall make an excellent canvasser? Now, please, understand," she added, "I expect you to come and see me!"

"Where is the flat?" he inquired.

"Aberdeen Mansion," she answered. "Jimmy took it while we were abroad——"

"Without seeing it? Good gracious!" said Colonel Faversham. That was just like Jimmy—and Bridget.

"Oh dear, yes," she said. "We left it to an agent, and, really, nothing could have turned out better. It is only a few yards from Hyde Park Corner. Will you come and have lunch this morning? I know Jimmy will be at home—not that it matters if he isn't."

"Some other time, if you will allow me," said Colonel Faversham, offering his right hand.

"I wish," cried Bridget, as she stood holding it, "you would promise me one thing!"

"Upon my word," he replied, "it's difficult to refuse to promise you anything."

"Well, then, please make Carrissima pay me a visit at once—at once, you understand?"

As Colonel Faversham walked on to his club, hastening because he had grown cold standing still so long, he doubted whether or not he should mention Mrs. Jimmy's name at Grandison Square. He never ceased to congratulate himself, inasmuch as the fact of his abortive engagement had been kept secret. Even if Carrissima suspected anything of the kind, she could not possibly know for certain! Colonel Faversham realized, however, that his relationship to Bridget in former days might still be raked up as food for scoffers, and he shrank from anything of the nature of ridicule. Mrs. Jimmy, indeed, was a delicate topic, and he would probably have kept his own counsel concerning the meeting in Piccadilly, if he had not feared lest she should subsequently come into contact with Carrissima, when his silence might defeat his own end.

"Whom do you think I saw this morning?" he asked, after dinner that evening.

"Not—not Bridget?" she exclaimed.

"Yes—Mrs. Jimmy! They have been in London only a couple of days."

"Then you spoke to her?"

"Good gracious!" answered the colonel, "why on earth shouldn't I speak to her. As a matter of fact there was no getting out of it. She insisted on speaking to me. She is living in a furnished flat—Aberdeen Mansion, close to Hyde Park Corner, you know, and she made me promise that you should pay her a visit as soon as possible. I don't know whether you will care to go."

"Oh yes," said Carrissima, "I am bound to call sooner or later."

"Well, well, you know best," was the answer. "She thought I was looking uncommonly well—at least she said so. Goodness knows whether she meant it. Anyhow, I feel pretty fit!"

Although anything resembling an intimacy with Bridget might be out of the question, it seemed absolutely necessary to pay Jimmy's wife an ordinary, complimentary visit. Deep down in Carrissima's mind, perhaps, was an idea that Bridget might prove capable of an intervention as auspicious as her previous alarums and excursions had been unfortunate.

If this were the case, Carrissima scarcely admitted the impeachment even to herself; but two afternoons after the meeting with Colonel Faversham near Half Moon Street his daughter set out to Aberdeen Mansion, where she found Mrs. Clynesworth at home, and at once came to the conclusion that until the present, at least, she believed everything had turned out for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

She at once broke through Carrissima's reserve. Paying no attention to her proffered hand, she leaned forward and demonstratively kissed her first on the right cheek, then on the left.

"So glad you have come," she cried effusively. "And how extremely fortunate that Jimmy is out."

"Is he all right?" asked Carrissima.

"Oh yes, quite all right," was the answer. "You will say he looks splendid, though I don't take any credit to myself for that, because he always did. I thought so the very first time I saw his photograph at your house. I haven't the remotest notion where he has gone and I never inquire. That's my theory of matrimony. Perhaps you are surprised to hear I have a theory of any kind; but no," said Bridget, "of course you're more likely to go to the opposite extreme. You can't help regarding me as a horrid sort of schemer!"

"All's well that ends well," returned Carrissima, with a smile.

"Ah! but, you see, it isn't the end!" said Bridget. "It's only the beginning. We're not living in one of those novels where marriage is the end of all things. But Jimmy and I always go our separate ways and the consequence is when we meet we're generally quite glad to see each other. Such an immense mistake to imagine that any two people can tell one another everything."

"Is it?" murmured Carrissima, who clung to a vastly different ideal.

"What bores we should become!" said Bridget. "And, you know, whatever you do to a man you must never bore him—poor fellow! But, please, don't encourage me to talk about myself—not that I really need much encouragement. I feel so perfectly delighted with everything!—how is Mark?" she added, abruptly changing her tone.

"He looked very well the last time I saw him," replied Carrissima, at once on guard.

"When was that?"

"A few days ago!"

"You don't appear to have any interesting announcement to make," suggested Bridget, with expressive eyes on Carrissima's face. Now, Carrissima hesitated. She could easily have answered in such a way that her hostess, with all her audacity, would have been silenced.

"I haven't spoken to Mark," she faltered, "since your marriage."

"How disappointing!" cried Bridget. "So, after all my efforts you didn't follow the advice I gave you."

"No," said Carrissima.

"Why not?"

"Oh well, I couldn't," said Carrissima, and Bridget shrugged her shoulders as if to put the topic aside.

"Did the colonel tell you," she inquired, "that Jimmy is going to stand for Atlinghurst? Between us we are going to accomplish the most wonderful things. He always insists that his mind is too independent for the House of Commons, but I tell him a man must expect to sacrifice some of his independence when he marries."

"In spite of all your theories!" suggested Carrissima.

"Of course," Bridget continued, "I quite understand that most people believe Jimmy sacrificed a great deal more than that! Your brother Lawrence, for instance! Oh dear, I can imagine exactly what he says! Carrissima, there's one thing which makes me angry!"

"Only one?" said Carrissima.

"The want of discrimination in the human mind. I dare say that even yours is tainted! It's of no use to pretend you can't understand. In a moment of self-denying effusiveness I admitted that I deliberately angled for a husband: first for Mark Driver, then for Colonel Faversham. Well, although one would have none of me and I didn't want the other, the fact remains that I am the wife of the richest of the trio! Everybody who knows Jimmy naturally thinks that was all I thought about—his money, his position and so forth. Well, there's only one consolation," said Bridget.

"What is that?" demanded Carrissima.

"Jimmy knows better. I can't tell you how, but there's the glorious fact that he does. All the evidence was against me! I suppose Jimmy is a kind of seer—oh, of course you can't help smiling at that! But, then, neither you nor any one else has the slightest idea what there is in Jimmy. Carrissima, my husband is a clever man who has the misfortune—if it is really a misfortune—to see both sides of every question too distinctly! Being a poor partisan, he appears to lack enthusiasm. But, then, I have a boundless store!"

"I begin to think," said Carrissima, "that none of us imagined all there was in you!"

"Oh, as for me," returned Bridget, "I was simply a little wretch during the few months you saw anything of me. I honestly believe that was a kind of interregnum. If you had met me while my father was alive you would have taken me for a quite different woman. All that is over and done with and for the rest—well, you will see!"

When Carrissima rose to go away Bridget clung to her hand—

"Jimmy will be immensely disappointed," she exclaimed. "I wish you would do something to console him by dining with us one evening. Our space here isn't sufficient for large parties."

"I should be very pleased," said Carrissima.

"Let me see," returned Bridget, knitting her brows, "we were reckless enough to promise to go to Sandbay from Friday till Monday—my dear little Dresden china aunts, you remember! It is really very amusing! Jimmy paid them a visit just after I left Golfney Place and they have taken quite a fancy to him. The odd part of it is, that he seems to like them in return. Goodness knows how he will endure three days in a house where tobacco has always been tabooed. Would next Friday suit you?"

"Quite nicely," said Carrissima.

"Oh, but Friday is an unlucky day, isn't it?" cried Bridget. "I don't know whether you are superstitious, although I believe everyone is about something. Suppose we say Thursday, and if I can't get together the people I should like to meet you I must write and fix another evening. If you don't hear to the contrary I shall expect you on Thursday—at eight o'clock. Or," Bridget added, "perhaps half-past seven will be more convenient. Yes, please let it be half-past seven."

Carrissima walked back to Grandison Square thinking of the change which had occurred in Bridget, who yet remained in many ways the same as she had ever been and most likely always would be. But she had no longer anything to disguise, anything to scheme for. Her manner was characterized by a new and delightful air of authority, and, indeed, Carrissima, if anybody, had become the plotter now! As far as Mrs. Jimmy was concerned the slate had been cleaned. No, in spite of anything that Lawrence might say, in spite of all that Bridget had done, Carrissima could not believe that Jimmy Clynesworth was to be very deeply pitied.



CHAPTER XXVIII

EXEUNT OMNES

Carrissima, in her curiosity to know the identity of the "people" whom Bridget wished her to meet, paid a visit to Upper Grosvenor Street. Sybil Clynesworth's breach of trust had been long ago forgiven, and now she was asked, in the most casual tone, whether she was to make one of the party at Aberdeen Mansion on Thursday.

"My dear," said Sybil, "Bridget quite understands that I do not care for that sort of thing. I must say she is kindness itself, and she wouldn't hear of my turning out of this house; she wouldn't hear of it. And really Jimmy seems exceedingly happy."

When Thursday evening arrived, Carrissima proved once more very exacting while she was being dressed for dinner. Her hair had to be twice taken down again, and at the last minute she changed her mind about her gown. Her maid had not found her so troublesome since that evening in March when she went to dine with Lawrence and Phoebe in Charteris Street, and on that disappointing occasion Carrissima expected to meet Mark Driver.

She could not feel quite so confident of his presence at Aberdeen Mansion this evening, and in any case such an encounter might not necessarily tend to mitigate the unfortunate coolness which had grown up between them. Still it would be a satisfaction to sit in the same room with him; perhaps he would even take her in to dinner, and to-night might prove the beginning of better days. Those through which Carrissima was living at present could scarcely be much worse!

Even Colonel Faversham remarked how well she was looking when she said "good-bye."

"I hope you won't feel very dull by yourself," she suggested.

"Dull!" he retorted. "Why in the world should I feel dull! You speak as if I couldn't tolerate my own society for a few hours. Give me a decent cigar and the Field, and I ask for nothing more. Besides, what do you imagine will become of me when you're married?"

"Oh well," said Carrissima, "there's no need to anticipate anything of that kind just yet."

"No," was the answer. "So it seems. What has happened to Mark Driver? He used to haunt the house, but now we never see him. I tell you what, Carrissima. A good many of you young women are just a little bit too exacting!"

"If I don't go I shall be late for dinner," exclaimed Carrissima hastily, and a few minutes later she was on the way to Aberdeen Mansion in a hired brougham.

Reaching the block of flats two minutes before the clock struck half-past seven, Carrissima went up to the second floor in the lift, pressed the bell button and was at once admitted by Jimmy's man. A tall parlour-maid met her in the hall, and took her to a bedroom, where Carrissima removed her cloak.

"Will you come this way?" said the parlour-maid, and led her to a miniature drawing-room which, to Carrissima's astonishment, was empty. "I am very sorry," the girl continued, in response to an inquiring glance, "but Mr. and Mrs. Clynesworth have not come in yet."

"Can I have made a mistake in the day?" said Carrissima. "Are you certain Mrs. Clynesworth expected me this evening?"

"Yes," was the answer, given with some hesitation.

"At what time?"

"Dinner is ordered for eight o'clock," said the parlour-maid.

"Oh, then that accounts for it," cried Carrissima. "I understood it was to be half-past seven."

"We always dine at eight," returned the parlour-maid, as she stirred the fire. "If you wouldn't mind taking a chair," she added, "Mr. and Mrs. Clynesworth will not be many minutes."

With that she left the room and shut the door, only to re-open it again a few moments later, whereupon Mark Driver entered without any announcement. To judge by appearances, he was far more astonished to behold Carrissima than she to see him. For a second he stood stock still just within the door, gazing down at her face in silence. It was she who at last broke through the embarrassment, rising and offering her hand.

"Good-evening, Mark!" she said.

"Good-evening," he replied, and then the conversation threatened to languish.

"What," asked Carrissima, "do you imagine has become of our host and hostess?"

"Goodness knows," said Mark. "There's obviously some mistake. Anyhow, I was immensely surprised to see their other guest."

"Really!" cried Carrissima, sitting down again in an easy-chair. "I don't quite see why!"

"The fact remains that I was," he answered, with the faintest of smiles.

"Were you also pleased, by any chance?"

"Suppose we say I was—well, dazzled," said Mark, drawing closer to her chair.

"The simple explanation must be," returned Carrissima, with a tremor in her voice, "that Bridget said eight, and we understood half-past seven."

"In that event we must have been dreaming!"

"But then," she suggested, "it isn't likely that two persons would dream the same thing, is it?"

"Oh well, I'm not certain," said Mark, and he rested a hand on the arm of her chair.

"You see, Bridget invited me when I was here last week," Carrissima explained. "I might easily have made a blunder."

"She wrote to me," was the answer. "I have it in black and white. There's no getting out of that."

"It must be a quarter to eight!" Carrissima suggested.

"Seventeen minutes to," said Mark, taking out his watch.

"I hope no accident has happened," suggested Carrissima, and bringing forward a chair, he sat down close to her side. "One is reminded," she added, "of a certain evening when Lawrence and Phoebe waited for you—do you remember?"

"Oh dear, yes," said Mark, passing a hand over his forehead. "Let us hope these people won't be quite so much behind as I was!"

"Are you afraid of being bored?" asked Carrissima. "Or are you merely hungry?"

"It seems a long time since I saw you last," he remarked.

"Whose fault was that?"

"My misfortune, anyhow," he admitted.

"You had only to come to Grandison Square," said Carrissima. "You knew I was always on view!"

They both lapsed into silence, thinking in common of his last visit to Colonel Faversham's, when, perhaps, neither of them had shown to the best advantage.

"It's difficult to shut one's mind to facts," exclaimed Mark suddenly.

"I fancy I have heard you protest that few things can be more misleading," she retorted.

He sat leaning forward in his chair, close to Carrissima's, his arms resting on his knees.

"Yes, that's all right," he said. "But I have sometimes to advise patients to submit to operations, thinking how I should hate the ordeal on my own account. I quite understand that the only way is often to shut one's eyes. Life seems to include a good many things which simply won't bear thinking about. One realizes the fact, yet goes on thinking of them just the same."

"Well," murmured Carrissima, "you should try—you should try to mend your ways in the future."

"Do you think you could do it?" he asked.

"What?" asked Carrissima.

"Shut your eyes!"

"Mark!" she cried, after a pause.

"Well?" he said.

"Look——"

She was leaning back with her eyes tightly closed; her little face puckered, and one hand resting on each arm of the chair.

At the sight all Mark's hesitation fell away, and rising impulsively, he took her cheeks between his palms and kissed her lips. The touch of nature made them kin, but not within the tables of affinity. They might have reasoned with themselves for months longer in vain, but being thrown alone together, their feelings quickly found free play.

It was true that Carrissima, although she may have hoped, and indeed she did devoutly hope for such a consummation, was in the sequel taken rather sharply by surprise. She had not anticipated this sudden denouement! The time for procrastination had passed, however, and as she opened her eyes she wound her arms about Mark's neck.

"It must be nearly eight o'clock," she remarked, as she rose from her chair a few minutes later, going at once to look in the mirror which formed part of the overmantel.

"Carrissima," said Mark, "I begin to suspect——"

"What?" she demanded.

"That this must be a put-up job!"

"Oh, but Bridget would never dream of such a thing," said Carrissima.

"I should be rather sorry to say what she wouldn't be capable of. Anyhow," Mark added, "it would be a pity to spoil a good intention! You haven't said you will be my wife, you know."

"I—I fancied that I had," she was answering, when there arose a noise outside the drawing-room as if some one had violently knocked over a metal tray.

By the time the door opened, Carrissima was seated in the easy-chair gazing at the fire, while Mark stood at the farther side of the small room with one of David Rosser's novels (hastily snatched from a side table) in his hand.

Enter Bridget, accompanied by Jimmy and looking her best in what might have been her wedding dress.

"So immensely sorry!" she cried, hastening forward as Carrissima rose.

"She looks sorry, doesn't she?" said Jimmy, with a laugh. "You must both try your hardest to forgive us," he added, as Bridget turned towards Mark.

"I do hope you two good people haven't been bored to death," she continued. "Especially as Mark seems to be reading one of my father's books!"

"We've done our level best—in the circumstances," he answered, with an embarrassed, boyish laugh, and then, dinner being announced, Jimmy offered his arm to Carrissima. While the servants were present everybody seemed to have a great deal to say with the exception of Miss Faversham, whose silence failed, however, to attract the least attention. By the time dessert was reached she began to show symptoms of recovering from her not unnatural embarrassment; Jimmy's glass was full. He drank champagne this evening.

"I was wondering," said Mark, when the four were left by themselves, "whether I might be of some use before the evening ended. Carrissima suggested an accident."

"There was not much you could call accidental about it, was there, Bridget?" said Jimmy.

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "I wish somebody would say something illuminating! I am positively dying from curiosity!"

"The important question is," suggested Jimmy, "what did Carrissima say?"

"And," said Bridget, "what did Mark ask her?"

Carrissima looked entreatingly into his face across the table.

"The fact is," he explained, disregarding her mute appeal, "I asked her to marry me!"

Bridget was on her feet in an instant.

"Oh, how immensely pleased I am!" she cried, stooping to kiss Carrissima's forehead. "Jimmy, you may drink your wine now!"

He lost no time in raising his glass.

"Carrissima!" he said. "Mark, old chap!"

She looked across the table, half smiles, half tears.



THE END