Carrissima could not refrain from looking at her sympathetically. Although her lips were smiling, her eyes seemed not a little pitiful. It was impossible not to like the girl, and, moreover, if it were granted that she was (as Lawrence insisted) manoeuvring for Colonel Faversham, it seemed to follow that there must be less fear for Mark! Perhaps, in some occult, subconscious way, this unbidden idea may have quickened Carrissima's regard, and in any case she deprecated the lonely birthday, forming a small benevolent scheme of her own for its celebration. In the first place, she determined to send Bridget a present, and then she would go to Golfney Place during the afternoon and take her out to tea. A modest programme, but still better than nothing.
On Tuesday afternoon Carrissima was, naturally, bound to Phoebe and Victor, but during the morning she made her way to Donaldson's, the jeweller's, in Old Bond Street, where her family had dealt for many years. Lawrence went there for presents for his wife; Colonel Faversham (who, to do him justice, was generous in this respect) never went anywhere else at Christmas time or on Carrissima's birthday.
She had not by any means made up her mind what to buy, and, indeed, in Carrissima's eyes shopping was always an elaborate rite. She stood for a few minutes gazing in at the tempting window, and entering presently, began to inspect various trays of rings and brooches, although she had no intention to purchase anything of the kind. During the process Mr. Donaldson, who had known her from childhood, came to the assistance of the salesman and talked about the weather. At last a silver card-case was selected.
"I wonder," said Carrissima, "whether it would be possible to have it engraved by to-morrow morning."
"I think that can be managed," returned Mr. Donaldson.
"You might send it to Golfney Place with my card," suggestedCarrissima, taking one from her case.
"It shall be there quite early, madam," said the salesman, making a note in a long, slim book.
At the moment Carrissima scarcely noticed the significance of the fact that he appeared already to know the name of the recipient and the number of her house. He had certainly written "Miss Rosser, 5——" before Carrissima had time to give him the address!
"The initials are B——"
But he had scribbled "B. R." in his book while yet the sentence was incomplete.
"How did you know?" she demanded eagerly.
"I beg your pardon, madam!" said the salesman, whilst Mr. Donaldson drew watchfully nearer.
"You wrote down the initials before I told you what they were!" she exclaimed.
"I think not," said Mr. Donaldson hastily. "I think you are making a mistake!"
She knew she had done nothing of the kind. She knew that Colonel Faversham must have been at the jeweller's before her this morning; that he had selected something to commemorate Bridget's birthday; something upon which also her initials were to be engraved.
"After all," she said, "I think you shall send the card-case toGrandison Square to-morrow morning."
Carrissima paid the bill, but in the reaction of her feelings she doubted whether she should give Bridget a present after all. It began to look as if there were some justification for Lawrence's suspicions, and for the first time she experienced serious fears for the future.
Carrissima could not make up her mind. When she set forth to Charteris Street to help in the entertainment of Phoebe's extremely juvenile guests, she was determined not to go near Golfney Place the following day. Seeing her amongst the children no one would have imagined that she had a sorrow in the world; she was the life and soul of the youthful party, and finally returned to Grandison Square in a becomingly dishevelled condition in time for dinner.
The following morning Colonel Faversham went to the hall at eleven o'clock, wearing a flower in his buttonhole. Carrissima accompanying him dutifully to the door, remarked that he had a new top hat.
"Do you think it suits me?" he asked, turning to face her. "Not too much brim, Carrissima?"
"It looks a trifle small," she answered.
"Small—nonsense! A man doesn't want a hat to come down over his eyes.I'm not a fogy yet, I hope."
"Why, of course not," she exclaimed. "Still, you will have to hold it on in the wind."
"Anyhow, that's better than using infernal pins that are a danger to the community," said Colonel Faversham. "I'll tell you what: next time I choose a hat I'll get you to come with me."
"I suppose you will be home to lunch," she suggested, telling herself she was shamefully cunning. But she could not help suspecting that he was off on some jaunt with Bridget, and no doubt she felt a little bitter about it.
"Shall I?" he answered, with a laugh. "Don't take too much for granted. I may get a snack at the club. Anyhow, you had better not wait."
She understood that he did not intend to return and wondered how she should dispose of her silver card-case. In no event would she go near Golfney Place that day! At about noon, however, it arrived from Donaldson's in a cardboard box, and really seemed too pretty to be wasted. There, too, were Bridget's initials, neatly engraved on its face, and, perhaps, after all, Colonel Faversham was reckoning without his guest. Miss Rosser might refuse to accept his present, whatever it might be—Carrissima felt very curious to know! She might decline to go out with him, and then her birthday would be spent in utter loneliness. Carrissima pictured her with melancholy reminiscences of her father and mother. Because whatever the girl's faults might be, she was certainly not lacking in natural affection. Surely some allowances ought to be made for the circumstances of the case. Carrissima was excellent at making allowances for people! She was one of those tiresome, inconsistent young women who remain blind to the teachings of reason and experience, and ever find some remnants of good in the rag-bags of humanity.
Bridget had lost her mother when she was eighteen! She had knocked about with her father for several years since. Of course she ought not to have encouraged Mark's visits night after night, as doubtless she had done; but, then, she may have had the intelligence to see that Mark was a man in a thousand—in a thousand! Mark was a man in a million!
In the end Carrissima left Grandison Square at a few minutes before four o'clock that afternoon, and having rung the bell at Number 5, Golfney Place, she was crushed to hear from Miller that Bridget had been out since a quarter to twelve.
"Oh!" said Carrissima, ashamed of her own artfulness, "I suppose she went with Colonel Faversham?"
"Yes," returned Miller.
"Do you know where they have gone?" asked Carrissima.
"Colonel Faversham told the chauffeur to drive to Richmond."
"To Richmond—thank you," said Carrissima. "I will come another day." Then she turned away with the card-case still in her hand and a heavier weight at her heart. She wished she had never gone to Crowborough that summer five years ago! Very devoutly she wished that Mark Driver had not visited the Old Masters' Exhibition. She had not walked far on her way home when she saw Jimmy Clynesworth coming towards her, and thought it rather early in the year for him to be wearing a straw hat in London.
Of course he stopped to speak. Jimmy was not the man to allow any one he knew to pass by, although for once in a way Carrissima would sooner have avoided the encounter.
"Have you heard from Sybil lately?" she asked.
"Oh yes, she's still with old Lady Ramsbottom—enjoying herself to the top of her bent, no doubt! You may be certain Sybil's having a rattling good time! She always revels in illness. Goodness knows when I shall see her again. Where are you bound for?" asked Jimmy, as Carrissima showed signs of impatience.
"For home and tea," was the answer.
"Let me give you some," he urged, walking on by her side.
"No, thank you, Jimmy!"
"Carrissima," he said, with a glance at her profile, "what in the world's the matter?"
"Why, nothing, of course!"
"Oh yes, there's something," he insisted. "I flatter myself I'm good at reading faces, you know, and yours is always interesting—one never has to read between the lines."
"Does that mean I wear my heart on my sleeve?" she demanded.
"Naturally you fancy you're inscrutable," said Jimmy, with a laugh."We all do. Come now, suppose you tell me what it is!"
"What would be the use—if there were anything?"
"You might enable me to do you a good turn! If I couldn't cure your woe I could possibly make you forget it. Besides, people do tell me things. You would be astonished to hear what confidences are poured into my ears."
"Is that because you're sympathetic, or simply because you're rich?" suggested Carrissima.
"What's that you're carrying?" he asked, with a shrug.
"A card-case," she replied.
"May I look?" he said, holding out his hand. After a momentary hesitation she let him take it, whereupon he had no scruple about opening the box. "Hullo! who is B. R.?" he demanded.
"Nobody you know, Jimmy!"
"Bridget Rosser!" he exclaimed. "You see what a memory I have. Is to-day any special occasion?"
"Her birthday," said Carrissima.
"How old is she?"
"Twenty-three!"
"What a delectable age! The same as your own. But if you're takingMiss Rosser a present," he added, "how is it you are on the way home?"
"Jimmy, you make me tired," said Carrissima. "I wish you wouldn't ask so many questions."
"I can't help it," he replied. "An inquiring turn of mind, you know. I haven't forgotten that Sybil is to pay your friend a visit directly she gets back."
"Indeed, there is not the slightest necessity," said Carrissima.
"Hullo! so you've changed your mind?"
"I suppose that is allowable."
"Where does she live?" Jimmy persisted.
"Wild horses wouldn't drag her address from me!" cried Carrissima, laughing quite cheerfully, "and kindly give me back the card-case."
He came to a standstill close to Colonel Faversham's house as he put it back in her hand.
"Now, I'm off," he said. "That's all I was waiting for."
"What?" asked Carrissima.
"To hear you laugh again."
"Jimmy," she said, "I sometimes wonder whether your inveterate cheerfulness is the sign of a shallow mind!"
"Oh well, you see, it's one of the few useful things I can do," he answered. "To swing a light about."
"Still, it isn't always safe to go full speed ahead," she suggested.
"Oh dear, no," said Jimmy. "We all have to put the brakes hard on now and then; but the fact remains that a coward dies a hundred deaths, you know."
Carrissima entered the house a moment after he walked away, and going to the drawing-room sat down to tea just as she was in her hat and jacket.
Could it be possible that her father seriously thought of marriage? In that event, the whole course of her life would be altered! She could never consent to stay at home if Bridget ruled the roast! Looking at her watch, presently, Carrissima saw that it was about the time when Lawrence could usually be found in the bosom of his family, and going down-stairs again she let herself out of the house. On reaching Charteris Street she saw him with Victor on his knees, whilst Phoebe on hers looked at the boy with anxious eyes.
He looked pale and fretful in consequence of yesterday's party, and when his nurse had carried him out of the room to an accompaniment of noisy expostulations, Carrissima turned to her brother—
"Lawrence," she said, "I am really in the most dreadful state of mind. I am beginning to wonder whether you could possibly have been right, after all."
"Thank you," answered Lawrence stiffly. "But, of course, a prophet is not without honour——"
"Yes, I know," Carrissima interrupted. "It's about Bridget."
"What has she been doing?" asked Phoebe.
"You remember she told us that to-day would be her birthday?"
"The most barefaced hint I ever heard in my life," said Lawrence.
"Well, I thought I would take her a small present——"
"A pity you can't hold yourself in a little more," was the answer."You must gush!"
"Anyhow," Carrissima continued quite humbly, "I went to Donaldson's—Phoebe, I saw the duckiest little opal brooch. I was half tempted——"
"For goodness' sake get along with the story!" cried Lawrence fretfully.
"I bought a card-case—silver," said Carrissima.
"Gun metal would have done just as well," suggested Lawrence.
"When I asked the man to engrave Bridget's initials on it," said Carrissima, "he knew what they were without being told. He knew her number in Golfney Place too!"
"Ah, then father had been there before you!" exclaimed Lawrence.
"Yes," answered Carrissima, "and he has taken her to Richmond to lunch!"
"What did I tell you?" said Lawrence.
"Oh, please don't tell me again," entreated Carrissima. "What is the use?"
"A pity you didn't think of all this," he persisted, "before you took the woman up. I knew what she was. I told Phoebe."
"What nonsense," said Carrissima. "As if any human being could have imagined she would dream of marrying father that night Mark told us he had met her again."
"Well," cried Lawrence in his most weighty tone, "we may see something when Mark comes back from Paris. Odd that he hasn't written to Phoebe once since he went away—his only sister! Mark may upset the apple cart yet. It's certain he was pretty far gone, and I don't suppose she cares whom she marries, as long as he has a decent income. It's true she would naturally prefer a husband who is not likely to live many years."
"Oh, Lawrence!" expostulated Phoebe. "How can you talk like that. He doesn't mean what he says, Carrissima."
"Indeed I do," he answered. "I am a man of the world."
"Still," said Carrissima, "you needn't be a man of the flesh and the devil!"
"Anyhow," returned Lawrence, "we shall see what happens when Mark comes back."
"One thing is certain," said Carrissima, "nothing on earth would induce me to live at home if father were to marry Bridget."
"As if you could live anywhere else. Where could you go?"
"I shouldn't stay there!" said Carrissima.
"The idea of a girl of your age setting up on her own is ridiculous," was the reply. "As bad as the other woman! You have made your bed and you will have to lie on it."
"Ah, well!" said Carrissima, "it won't be at Number 13, GrandisonSquare."
"Has Colonel Faversham returned?" asked Carrissima when Knight opened the door.
"The colonel is in the smoking-room," was the answer, and she went there at once. He was leaning back in an easy-chair, with his feet on the fender, a cigar between his lips, and an unusually benignant expression on his face.
"Well, Carrissima," he inquired amicably, "where have you sprung from?"
"I went to Charteris Street," she returned. "What have you been doing since eleven?"
"What have I been doing?" said Colonel Faversham, rubbing his palms violently together. "Well, now, to tell you the truth, I've been out on the spree! Such a glorious day! I couldn't resist the temptation. A man at the club—I don't think you know him—Comberbatch—asked me to share a taxi and run down to Richmond to lunch. Delightful in the park. And the view from the Terrace! It made me long to go on the river again."
"Why—why didn't you?" Carrissima faltered.
"Come, come, what are you dreaming of?" said Colonel Faversham, with one of his boisterous laughs. "Picture my rowing in these clothes: a frock coat!"
"Oh well," she returned, "I scarcely imagined you would row yourself."
"Not row myself!" he exclaimed. "Why shouldn't I, in the name of goodness? Let me tell you I can pull a good oar still. If only I had had my flannels! You seem to think I'm fit for nothing."
Colonel Faversham astonished Carrissima by rising from his chair and taking off his coat. Removing the links from his shirt-cuff, he solemnly turned back the sleeve, then clenching his fist, slowly raised his forearm, looking the while so red in the face that she grew quite alarmed.
"Feel that!" he said.
"I will take your word for it——"
"Kindly do as I ask you," he insisted, with his arm still bent. "I can't stand like this all day."
Carrissima accordingly felt his biceps with her thumb and forefinger.
"As hard as wood," she said.
"Ah!" he answered, with a smile of relief and satisfaction, as he turned down his shirtsleeve again; "I thought that would astonish you. Not row myself!"
He was obviously in the highest spirits, and indeed he was still under the influence of the intoxicating pleasures of the earlier part of the day. Not that this had passed without some drawbacks. The present which he had bought at Donaldson's had been the cause of considerable cogitation. He was hampered by the fear that Bridget might regard what he would like to bestow upon her as too significant, and in the end had selected a handsome and costly crocodile-hide dressing-bag. It would prove suitable for her honeymoon, and it was with not a little regret that he felt bound to order the initials "B. R." to be engraved on the gold stoppers of the bottles, instead of "B. F." The alteration could, however, no doubt be made in due season.
Not wishing to open Carrissima's eyes unnecessarily soon, ColonelFaversham gave instructions for the bag to be sent to Number 5, GolfneyPlace, before half-past ten on Wednesday morning, and he felt deeplydisappointed when Bridget gently but firmly refused to accept it.
Incongruously enough, she was persuaded nevertheless to accompany him to Richmond, and the drive at close quarters in the taxi-cab, thetête-à-têtemeal, the bottle of champagne which Bridget scarcely tasted, had, collectively and separately, inflamed Colonel Faversham to the sticking-point. When they reached Golfney Place at half-past five, another disappointment lay in store for him, inasmuch as she refused to allow him to enter the house—she felt too tired after the drive! He could come to-morrow, and, meantime, he might send for the dressing-bag.
She could be so tantalizing now and then, that it was easy to believe she was scoffing at him. During the day she had more than once dragged Mark's name into the conversation, and even Carrissima did not feel more curious respecting their precise relationship than her father.
Notwithstanding his anxiety concerning the critic on his hearth, and the more exacerbating one in Charteris Street, Colonel Faversham had reached the end of his tether. This delightful girl, with her charming ingenuousness, her high spirits, might actually become his wife in the course of a few months.
A few months! She might be prevailed upon to marry him within the next few weeks. What cause could there possibly be for delay? Surely he was entitled to please himself! Absurd to imagine that a man of his age must regulate his life to please a slip of a girl like Carrissima, or a solemn young puritan like Lawrence!
When Colonel Faversham arrived at Golfney Place on Thursday morning, Bridget was wearing a new frock; quite light, almost white, in fact, and setting off her slender figure to the most admirable advantage. How many new frocks he had seen her wearing, Colonel Faversham found it difficult to count. The crocodile-hide dressing-bag stood ominously on the table, and, by way of a greeting, she reminded him that he had been asked to send for it.
"Confound the bag!" he retorted. "If you won't keep the thing, pitch it in the dusthole. Bridget," he continued, standing close by her side, "I want you to accept all I have in the world and myself into the bargain. I am not going to blow my own trumpet. Thank goodness I was never that sort of man! I wish I were a boy just because you're a girl, but if you'll take me as I am, you'll make me the happiest man in the world, and I'll do my best to see you never regret it."
"I shan't pretend that you've taken me entirely by surprise," saidBridget.
"Surprise!" exclaimed Colonel Faversham. "No one could have shown much more plainly what he wanted. There's not much shilly-shally about me. For that matter, I made up my mind long ago——"
"Oh, but you really haven't known me very long," she suggested. "It can't be more than a month since Mark went to Paris."
"I wish," said the colonel, "he had gone to Hades!"
"I know you are horridly jealous," she continued, "because you always change the subject when I mention his name. I like Mark Driver immensely!"
"Anyhow, I want to hear you say you like me better," said ColonelFaversham.
She stood looking at him critically—and very tantalizingly—with her head slightly on one side; and while he devoured her with his eyes, Bridget slowly took a chair.
"But why should you try to make me say what isn't true?" she demanded.
"I hope it would be," urged Colonel Faversham.
"I am not at all certain," she said quietly. "It's a vastly important question. It requires time for consideration."
"How long, for goodness' sake?"
"I really couldn't possibly tell you offhand. I shouldn't care to bind myself."
"I am desperately impatient to bind you, though," answered Colonel Faversham. "I would see to it we had a good time. There's no wish of yours that shouldn't be gratified—in reason, you know."
"Haven't you discovered by this time how unreasonable I am?" she asked.
"Bridget, come now, be a good girl!" he murmured.
"That shows how little you know me," she returned, "because I'm not in the least good."
"Well, well, call yourself what you please! Only have a little love for me, and I don't care what the devil you are!" exclaimed Colonel Faversham, and at that moment he meant precisely what he said.
"I am not certain I have," she cried, with a laugh. "You see that whatever I may be I am candid. I don't think I have a particle of what I suppose you mean by 'love' for any living being. Perhaps there's something wanting in my constitution. I don't believe I shall ever be capable of 'loving' anybody as long as I live."
"Good gracious," was the answer, "don't tantalize me. Why do you keep me on tenterhooks? Say you will marry me, and we'll leave everything else."
"I can't say so this morning," she insisted. "I can say that I won't if you like."
"For heaven's sake, don't do that!" Colonel Faversham quite humbly entreated.
"Then please don't bother me for an answer," she said, and, with all her lightness, he realized that she had a will of her own. His only consolation was that, if her word could be accepted, she had not given her heart to Mark or any one else. Whether she was to be believed or not, however, his infatuation remained unaffected. He had reached a condition in which he longed for possession upon any terms whatsoever, but since it was obvious that she did not intend to pledge herself this morning, there was no help for it! He must be as little discontented as possible to leave the question open for the present.
"Well, then," he suggested, "if I manage to bottle up my feelings for a week or so, will you try to think favourably of me in the meantime?"
"Why, yes, of course I will," she answered. "But it must be distinctly understood. I am as free as the wind! I have not promised anything."
Beyond this she could not be prevailed upon to go, but before he left Golfney Place, she gratified him by consenting to keep the dressing-bag. She thanked him, indeed, very charmingly; so that, notwithstanding his rebuff, Colonel Faversham left the house disappointed, it is true, but even more her slave than ever.
It was one afternoon towards the end of April, and Carrissima congratulated herself that she had made up her mind to spend it indoors, although the trees in the parks were in fresh green leaf, and London was looking its brightest and best. There had been, however, a few showers at luncheon-time, and Colonel Faversham had set out through one afterwards "to his club."
Carrissima, of course, knew very well that he was bound for Golfney Place, and for her own part, she determined to stay at home until tea-time, with the consequence that she saw Mark about half-past four.
He entered the room looking as handsome, as alert and energetic as ever; a man, you felt certain, who would succeed in making his way in the world, as indeed he fully intended to do.
"When did you get back?" asked Carrissima, remembering that her welcome must not be too cordial.
"Late yesterday afternoon," he answered.
"Have you had a good time?"
"Oh, ripping!" he continued. "Old Wentworth knows his Paris, and we didn't waste many hours."
Six months ago it would not have been in the least surprising that he should pay her a visit directly he returned, but now she was wondering whether he had already seen Bridget Rosser.
"You're not staying in Charteris Street?" she asked.
"Not a bit of it. I'm at Duffield's Hotel again for the present. But I thought I ought to give Phoebe a look up last night. I went there after dinner. She tells me you have seen Bridget?" said Mark, leaning forward rather eagerly in his chair.
"Oh yes, it seemed quite the natural thing to do," answered Carrissima, unable to repress a sigh as she remembered the train of circumstances which had followed her visit to Golfney Place.
"That sounds as if you wish you hadn't done it!" he suggested.
"Have you seen her yet?" asked Carrissima, perceiving her opportunity.
"No," said Mark; "but I've listened to a good deal about her. Lawrence is great on the subject. By Jove! according to him she might be the complete adventuress. He insists she has been trying her hand on the colonel—not without success!"
"Does the suggestion strike you as being inconceivable?" demandedCarrissima.
"Oh well, you forget that I have been away for more than a month. I have no means of forming an opinion——"
"Your previous experiences!" said Carrissima; and Mark stared at the carpet.
His previous experiences of Bridget had, no doubt, proved entirely agreeable. During Carrissima's absence from London in the weeks after Christmas, when he had no occupation for his idle hands, he had certainly spent many enjoyable hours at Number 5, Golfney Place, and it had been necessary on more than one occasion to remind himself that discretion was the better part of valour.
If it had not been for Carrissima, the temptation to meet Bridget's apparently "coming-on disposition" half way would have become more acute, and without any idea of a closer relationship, he might perchance have gone farther over night than he would have thought desirable the next morning.
Without being a coxcomb, Mark Driver, during those evening interviews, had been inclined to think that this was precisely what Bridget desired; but then again, he reasoned himself into the opinion that she must be entirely innocent of any such idea, which was due, rather, to his own less well-ordered imagination. And, besides, there was Carrissima!
"Goodness knows," he answered at last. "I came here this afternoon to check Lawrence's opinion by your own."
Now it was Carrissima's turn to hesitate. She wished to play the game and not for the world would she attempt to belittle Bridget if Mark desired to exalt her. On the other hand any reluctance to express a candid opinion might appear suspicious in his eyes!
"Oh well," she said, "there are certain facts which can't be disputed. You must draw your own conclusions. Bridget lets father take her to the play; to all sorts of places; she receives him every day in the week, and he buys her presents. On the few occasions when I have seen them together," Carrissima added, "he has made himself—well, I, if it were not for my filial respect, I should say ridiculous."
"Of course," answered Mark, "it's easy enough to believe that the colonel admires her. Any man must! All I can say is that if Lawrence has any justification I am immensely sorry."
For what? Carrissima wondered. Was he sorry for her sake, or for his own? Because Colonel Faversham was by way of winning Bridget, or because he himself had consequently lost her?
"So am I," murmured Carrissima.
"I can't help seeing," Mark continued, "that I am responsible in a way. If I hadn't mentioned her name at Phoebe's that evening I was late for dinner you would never have gone to Golfney Place, and Bridget would never have crossed Colonel Faversham's path."
"How devoutly I wish she hadn't," said Carrissima. "But what can anybody do? It is a day after the fair. She has the game in her hands if she cares to play it. The astonishing thing is that she has waited so long."
"I wonder," exclaimed Mark, "whether I should find her at home."
"If so she is scarcely likely to be alone. The only way to make certain of catching her without father is to go soon after breakfast or after dinner."
"I will go this evening," said Mark.
"What for?" asked Carrissima.
"You see," he answered, "I'm a bad hand at sitting still with my hands in my pockets. I suppose surgery makes one think something can always be attempted."
"Still," suggested Carrissima, with a smile, "you can scarcely dream of going to Golfney Place and asking Bridget's intentions!"
"The Lord knows!" said Mark. "I shall see how the cat jumps. Anyhow,I am bound to have a look in."
"I shall feel curious to hear how you get along," answered Carrissima. "And now suppose we banish the topic. Can't we talk about something more agreeable? I am afraid I have been making my poor father a little uncomfortable at home. Mark, I am developing into a little beast."
On the contrary, he thought she had never looked more charming. It is probable that their recent separation caused him to regard Carrissima more favourably than when he used to meet her, as a matter of course, once or twice every week. He had not seen her face for longer than a month, then only once after two or three months' separation. She came upon him now as a kind of revelation, the more because of her obvious anxiety on account of Colonel Faversham. For years he had ever found her bright and equable; the best of good comrades, but this afternoon their intercourse seemed for the first time to be touched by emotion.
"Tell me about your plans for the future—if you have made any,"Carrissima urged.
"Oh, I'm always making plans," he returned, and began to explain his intention to lookout for rooms in the neighbourhood of Harley Street—that medical bazaar.
While still at Saint Josephine's Hospital he had made the acquaintance of Mr. Randolph Messeter, a man considerably older than himself; an eminent surgeon, who had more than once invited Mark to dinner. Randolph Messeter frequently came to Saint Josephine's to operate, and on such occasions Mark always administered the anaesthetic. Messeter had more than hinted that he might be able to put some work in Mark's way, and the intention was that he should specialize as an anaesthetist, at the same time waiting for ordinary patients. Carrissima listened with the deepest interest, knowing, however, that his resources would be taxed to the utmost for some time to come. That he would make his way before very long she did not doubt for an instant, but how convenient he would in the meantime find her own income of eight hundred pounds a year!
How willingly, too, would she place it at his service! When he rose to go away she wished that it were possible to keep him out of Bridget's reach, because she could not fail to recollect Lawrence's plainly expressed opinion.
Could it be possible, she wondered, after Mark had left the house, that Bridget had two strings to her bow? Was she holding Colonel Faversham on and off until Mark's return to London? Did she intend to make a last bid for the younger man, and if he eluded her to fall back on the older one?
For this supposition, however, there was only Lawrence's word, and for her own part Carrissima would have been sorry if the world were quite the rabbit warren which, in spite of his own remarkable domestic felicity, her brother appeared to think it.
Mark Driver, having dined at Duffield's Hotel, set out, with a cigar between his lips, to Golfney Place. In the Strand he hailed a taxi-cab, and his arrival obviously took Bridget completely by surprise. She had always an alluring, seductive way with her, and now, unaware of his return from Paris, she rose almost impulsively from her chair, and came to meet him with such an air of abandon that he thought for the moment she intended to fling herself incontinently into his arms.
Bridget looked peculiarly fresh and fragrant this evening in the light morning frock, which she had not troubled to change for her solitary dinner. It was almost impossible that any man of Mark's age should not feel flattered and pleased by her satisfaction at the sight of him.
"Oh, how glad I am!" she exclaimed, holding both his hands so tightly that it would have been difficult to withdraw them if he wished. Her frock was touching his coat as she stood gazing into his face. "Such a dreadfully long time, Mark!" she continued. "I hope you are going to stay in London at last."
"Yes, all my wanderings are over," he answered.
"Do sit down," she said, releasing his hands. "I hope the room isn't too hot. I have a fire chiefly for company's sake, you know."
"Have you been feeling dull?" he asked, sitting down at one end of the large sofa, while she sank on to the other.
"Only during the evenings," she explained. "I sit here by myself night after night. I try to read, but gradually my thoughts wander, and I'm back at home again. Home is always the dear old house at Crowborough."
"Well now," said Mark, "what have you been doing all these weeks?"
"Oh, I—I don't know," she answered, trifling with some trimming on her dress.
"Anyhow," suggested Mark, looking round the large room, "you seem to have plenty of flowers."
They were standing in every available space: in pots, in bowls, in vases; the air of the room was laden with their scent.
"They all came from Colonel Faversham," said Bridget, more soberly than usual. "Have you seen Carrissima by any chance?"
"This afternoon," returned Mark.
"Then you know she has seen me. I think she is perfectly sweet, Mark! She came here a few days after you went away, and asked me to go to Grandison Square. She gave me leave to look her up as often as I liked. I took her at her word. Oh, I assure you I feel very much at home there." Bridget lowered her eyes, paused a moment, then raised them again to Mark's face. "The question is," she said slowly, as if she were carefully choosing her words, "whether I shall make it my home—for good, you understand. I have been longing for you to come so that I might—that I might ask your advice."
"What about?" demanded Mark, somewhat taken aback by her outspokenness.
"Oh, how dense you must be if you can't really guess," she said.
"I don't think I shall try," was the answer.
"Oh well, if you make me say it! Colonel Faversham wants me to marry him. Now the murder is out, isn't it?"
"Almost as detestable a crime!" cried Mark. "Do you mean that he has actually asked you——"
"If he hadn't, how should I know?" she replied. "Because there's always the chance of a slip between the cup and the lip. Besides, even such an unreticent person as myself couldn't possibly anticipate. I dare say you wonder that I talk to you about it, in any case; but then, you see, I have nobody else."
"You haven't done anything so monstrous as to accept him?" said Mark.
"Oh—monstrous!" she murmured.
"Of course, it's unthinkable!"
"Indeed it is not," said Bridget. "If you only knew how I have lain awake thinking of it. Still, I wouldn't say 'yes.' I have kept the poor dear man in suspense till your return. He is quite ridiculously—well, in love with me, I suppose he would call it."
"Obviously you are nothing of the kind," suggested Mark.
"In love—with Colonel Faversham!" she cried, with a laugh. "You know,Mark, he is most horridly jealous."
"So there's some one else?"
"Only you," she said, and Mark started to his feet.
"Jealous of me! Oh, good Lord!" he exclaimed, and suddenly became aware that Bridget was keeping him under close observation.
"Idiotic of him, isn't it?" she remarked, continuing hastily, "but you haven't given me your serious opinion. I want you to make a cool survey of the situation."
"I thought I had," said Mark. "Of course, you must refuse."
"That is all very well," she urged, "but there's something else you must tell me. Supposing that I refuse to marry the colonel, what is to become of me?"
"There are your aunts at Sandbay!"
"Oh yes, my dear little Dresden china aunts! And, you know, Mark, there's the River Thames. I would as soon plunge into the one as take a train to the others."
"What is to prevent you from staying here?" he asked. "If you are tired of London, try Paris again. You can surely go where you please."
"How few are lucky enough for that!"
"I thought," said Mark, "you had the world before you."
"More likely the workhouse," answered Bridget.
"You don't mean to say you're—you're hard up!" he cried, returning to his seat on the sofa.
"Oh, I have plenty of money at the bank," she explained. "Mark, I detest talking about it, but I really should love to tell you. During mother's lifetime, you must remember how comfortably we used to live. I always had everything I wanted—for that matter, so I have until this moment. Naturally," Bridget continued, "I believed that the house and everything were kept up by father's books."
"Wasn't that the case?" asked Mark.
"As a matter of fact," said Bridget, "they brought in very little money indeed."
"Surely his name was very well known!"
"Yes, and he had heaps of friends who thought ever so much of him.There are hundreds of press cuttings praising him up to the skies.During the last few months of his life he scarcely read anything else.The doctors gave his illness a long name—I dare say you wouldunderstand if I could remember; but what killed him was a broken heart."
"How was that?" asked Mark.
"What we really lived upon," answered Bridget, "was my mother's income. That died with her—all but a small sum, which she left to me. We were compelled to leave Crowborough, and father seemed to droop like some transplanted flower. We wandered from place to place, and I suppose he was extravagant. I seem to take after him. Neither of us could bother about economy and that sort of thing. He felt the change dreadfully, and the tragedy was that he couldn't pull himself together in his necessity. Instead of writing better, he wrote much worse. He could satisfy neither himself nor any one else. His sales fell off; he saw he wasn't doing good work. I believe that broke his heart."
"Didn't he leave you anything?" asked Mark.
"Nothing whatever. He knew he was dying and told me to communicate with his old friend Mr. Frankfort, a solicitor. But there was nothing due from publishers—not a penny; so it was fortunate I had the money that had been left by my mother, wasn't it?"
"Do you mind," suggested Mark, "telling me how much that was?"
"I don't mind telling you anything," she said. "I want you to know all about me. I love to tell you. It was invested to bring in a hundred and twenty pounds a year; but what is that?"
"Not enough to live upon as you are living here," he admitted.
"Nor anywhere else," she replied. "It's no earthly use, Mark. I am spoiled for that. I draw cheques when I want any money, and now and then I get a letter from the bank manager to say my account is overdrawn. I go to see him; my deed-box is fetched up from the realms below, the manager sells something for me, and so I go along till the next time."
"Then you are living on your capital!" cried Mark.
"What else can I live upon?" she demanded.
"The interest—naturally."
"Now, do you really think I look the sort of person to live on a hundred pounds a year?" she said, throwing out her hands.
"But if you haven't got any more! Don't you realize," he suggested, "that the day is bound to come when you will find yourself out in the cold?"
"Oh yes," she said, with a sigh. "That's when I get a fit of the miserables. But something is certain to happen."
"You anticipate a miracle?"
"It wouldn't be far out of the natural order of things," she replied.
"You expect some one—one of your aunts, for instance—to leave you a fortune!" said Mark.
"Oh dear, no! I am not in the least likely to wish any one to die. Really I think you are rather stupid this evening. There might be a marriage, you know. Such things do happen!"
"Anyhow," he answered, "you mustn't let yourself be frightened into marrying Colonel Faversham."
Rising from her end of the sofa, Bridget glided to his, and standing close in front of him, so that her skirt brushed his knees, she looked insinuatingly into his face.
"Will you," she said, "kindly tell me what I am to do, Mr. Driver?"
Mark Driver must have been much more obtuse than the most of his friends believed, to fail to recognize the invitation in Bridget's demeanour. Although he had not the slightest intention to profit by it, he could not pretend that for the moment it lacked enticement.
It seemed perfectly clear that she was holding the balance between himself and Colonel Faversham; and realizing that her income must some day inevitably be exhausted, shrinking from an appeal to her aunts at Sandbay, that she was determined to take Time by the forelock and seek safety in marriage.
Mark could understand now the significance of her behaviour during the first few weeks of their acquaintance, and while this offer of herself was in a manner distasteful, she looked so young, so seductive, so ingenuous while she made it that he must needs blame her environment rather than her disposition.
Bridget impressed him as a child masquerading in the garments of a somewhat audacious woman of the world, and he told himself that if she could be placed amidst more favourable surroundings, her natural character would shine forth triumphantly. Moreover, he was by no means free from egoism. He had enough vanity to experience some shadow of gratification, and even though the other candidate was no one more estimable than Colonel Faversham, there was, perhaps, a grain of satisfaction in the knowledge that he might have been first in the field.
As a matter of fact, Mark had never in his life been more attracted by Carrissima than on this first day after his return to London. At the same time he was a young man and Bridget was an extremely captivating young woman. Notwithstanding a sense of disapproval, it became judicious to take the precaution of saying "good-bye."
"Well, what am I to do?" asked Bridget, as he sat silent.
"I'm blessed if I know," he answered, and at once rose to his feet.
He saw that she was profoundly disappointed, and although it appeared plain enough that the transaction would in any case be regarded by her as mainly mercantile, he fancied that she would have been in other ways delighted if his answer had been different.
"Neither do I," she said, with a sigh, "unless I make up my mind to gratify Colonel Faversham. Why shouldn't I? Look upon this picture and on this. A year or two at the outside, and on the one hand I find myself without a penny. On the other, I have only to say the word and I make certain, as soon as I please, of a fair income, a good house and an excellent position in society; because, you know, I could hold my own. You see me here living through a kind of interregnum. I am just nobody! But in Paris and other places it used to be different, and so I intend it to be again. What else is there? You make an immense mistake if you imagine me as a governess or anything of that kind. What could I teach?"
"Anyhow," answered Mark, holding out his hand, "you need not do anything impetuously. At the worst your money will hold out for some time to come."
"Oh dear, yes!" she cried more brightly, "and before it has all gone, why, I shall be provided with somebody else's."
Still she looked up at him rather pitifully, her eyes meeting his own, her chin invitingly raised with its delectable dimple. Now, Mark wished devoutly that the idea of that dimple as a sort ofpoint d'appuihad never entered his thoughts, but there was the regrettable fact. Of course he had hitherto always resisted the temptation, which was the greater because he knew that he need not fear opposition; but still, there was Carrissima and he resisted it again.
He went to Grandison Square the following afternoon as if to seek a corrective; and once in her presence marvelled at his own weakness. Here was the woman, as somebody says, for him to go picnicking through the world with. Not that the time had arrived just yet. Mark was not without a sturdy independence. Besides, there would be Colonel Faversham to deal with. As soon as he had made a beginning in his profession, then would be the time to ask Carrissima to share his lot.
"Well, did you see Bridget?" she asked.
"Oh yes," said Mark.
"If you appointed yourself her father-confessor she must have been a wee bit surprised."
"The surprise was on my side," said Mark.
"What about?" demanded Carrissima.
"The state of her finances. All she has in the world is the remnant of two or three thousand pounds she inherited from her mother. Rosser left her nothing, and she is calmly spending her capital."
"But why," suggested Carrissima, "should she go out of her way to enlighten you about her income?"
"Anyhow," was the answer, "the time is bound to come when she won't possess one."
"What does she propose to do in that case?" said Carrissima. "At present her dressmaker's bill must be rather extravagant, and I wish I could buy such hats! I suppose," Carrissima added, "that marriage is to be the way out of her difficulty."
"At least," replied Mark, "you may console yourself that nothing is settled at the moment."
"How do you know?" asked Carrissima hastily.
"You may accept it as a fact," he insisted.
"Undoubtedly," she retorted, "your conversation must have taken an extraordinary turn last night. Mark, you are rather tantalizing. It is so evident that you are only favouring me with elegant extracts."
"Oh well, I don't want to give the girl away," he said. "And look here, Carrissima, I don't want you to drop upon her too heavily."
"Is that a custom of mine?" she exclaimed. "As if I want to drop upon her at all! Frankly, I like Bridget. You see, we are in agreement so far. Or rather, I should like her if she would let the foolish colonel go. Oh dear, I really ought not to talk in this way!"
"Upon my word," said Mark, "I believe she scarcely realizes what she is doing."
"Then you admit she is doing it!"
"A kind of youthful irresponsibility," he returned. "That accounts for everything."
"You seem to forget she is older than I am," said Carrissima.
He laughed as he looked down at her small figure, and if he had not by any means succeeded in relieving her dismal anticipations concerning Colonel Faversham, he had to a certain degree caused her to feel easier about his own future. Flattering herself that she had now a firm grip of the situation, Carrissima began to marvel that a man of her father's long experience could remain blind to the facts of the case.
"Father," she said, alone with him after dinner the same evening, "I heard some rather astonishing news this afternoon."
"Ah well," answered the colonel, "it takes a great deal to astonish me. The more I know of the world the more extraordinary things I expect to hear."
"It was about Bridget," said Carrissima.
"What about her?" he demanded, turning in his chair to face his daughter.
"Judging from the way she lives and dresses," Carrissima continued, "I always assumed she had plenty of money."
"I hate to see a girl of your age mercenary," was the answer. "Good gracious, when I was two-and-twenty I never gave money a thought. I should never have dreamed of bothering myself about the amount of my friends' incomes. I don't now for that matter. Always keep your heart young, Carrissima! I am as disinterested now as ever I was in my salad days, thank goodness! Odd where you get this calculating habit!"
"I didn't know I was mercenary and calculating and all the rest of it," said Carrissima. "I thought, perhaps, you might feel interested to hear——"
"To hear what?" cried Colonel Faversham. "If I had wished to learn the amount of Bridget's income I should simply have paid a shilling and gone to Somerset House to look at David Rosser's will. But I didn't. I've a mind above that sort of thing."
"You wouldn't have got much information there," said Carrissima, "because Mr. Rosser left nothing. Bridget's money came from her mother."
"How did you discover that?" asked Colonel Faversham.
"Mark told me."
"Has he seen Bridget?" the colonel exclaimed in some surprise, because he had spent the afternoon at Golfney Place and she had not for a wonder mentioned Mark's name.
"Yes, he went after dinner last night," said Carrissima. "There's not the least shadow of doubt that she has been waiting to see whether he would ask her to marry him."
"Scandal!" shouted Colonel Faversham indignantly. "Abominable scandal!How the devil is it possible you can know whether she expected MarkDriver to ask her to marry him or not?"
"It is perfectly certain," said Carrissima, "that unless she marries somebody or other she will find herself without any money to live upon."
Although Carrissima spoke after prolonged reflection, and considered that the peculiar circumstances of the case justified the means she was employing, she could not feel very pleased with herself. She disliked anything underhanded; but, then, she disliked the prospect of Bridget's becoming Mrs. Faversham still more. Instead, however, of causing Colonel Faversham to hold his hand, Carrissima merely succeeded in egging him on. Rising excitedly from his chair he stood glaring at her for a few moments, as if he were going to break into a torrent of abuse; but turning abruptly away he left the room, slamming the door behind him so that the house shook. Making his way down-stairs he sat up late in the smoking-room, and when at last he went to bed, found it impossible to sleep.
During the small hours it seemed almost as though Carrissima's hint might prove of some avail. For the first time he began to hesitate concerning the future. In an exceptionally sane interval he came near to agreement with his daughter. Her remark about Bridget's means had been, in fact, a revelation. Not that he cared whether she possessed any money or not, but the absence of it might be a deplorable temptation.
Could it be possible that she had been deliberately awaiting Mark's return, postponing her answer to the older man until she convinced herself there was not a chance of securing the younger? An infuriating suspicion, but still not capable of causing Colonel Faversham's withdrawal. On the contrary, as he shaved the following morning, cutting his chin rather badly, he told himself that if only Bridget would consent to marry him, every other consideration might go to limbo!
By eleven o'clock he was waiting in the sitting-room at Number 5, Golfney Place. Until her appearance he walked restlessly from the fireplace to the farthest window, stopping to look at the uninviting oleographs on the wall, inspecting the row of David Rosser's novels which filled the hanging shelf.
Colonel Faversham was in an unstable mood this morning. Why couldn'tBridget come? She must know by this time that he detested waiting!Every other minute he glanced at the door, and at last when she enteredbreathed a deep sigh of relief.
"What a very early bird!" she cried, coming towards him in her graceful, unhurried way.
"I want to catch the—— No, no," he said, "that won't do! You didn't tell me you had seen Mark Driver!" he added, holding her hand.
"Didn't I?" was the casual answer. "But why should I? You surely don't imagine for a moment I tell you everything! How deeply astonished you would be! What an amusing disillusionment!"
"Why should it be?" he demanded. "What have you to be ashamed of?"
"Ever so much," said Bridget. "So many men would like to shut us up in harems, wouldn't they?"
"It depends on the woman," returned the colonel.
"I assure you it would never answer in my case," she exclaimed."Neither bolts nor bars would keep me in."
"My dear," he said, "you drive me half out of my mind. You give me no peace."
"Oh, you poor thing!" she murmured, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Say you will be my wife and have done with it," he urged.
"Now, supposing—only supposing that I were foolish enough——"
"You will," he cried, and doubtless he looked a little ridiculous as he went down on one knee. The joint, too, was stiffer than usual this morning.
"What do you imagine," she suggested, "that Carrissima would say—and your son!"
At this alarming reminder Colonel Faversham made an attempt to rise, but to his annoyance a cry of pain escaped. Unable for the moment to straighten his knee, he remained at Bridget's feet, conscious of the anti-climax.
"Let me help you," she said, sympathetically offering her hand.
"Good heavens!" he cried; "why do you imagine I require help! I am quite able to help myself. I never depend on other people. Give me independence," he added, standing upright though the effort made him wince.
"Yet you ask me to sacrifice mine!" said Bridget. "But what would Mr.Lawrence Faversham have to say?"
"Upon my soul I can't imagine," was the answer.
"I believe you are thoroughly afraid of him and Carrissima. Well, so am I," she admitted.
Colonel Faversham had never held Lawrence in greater awe than at this moment when he believed that happiness lay within his grasp. He perceived that Carrissima the previous evening must have been attempting to influence him, and consequently that she already suspected his intentions. Now Colonel Faversham had often turned the matter over in his mind, with the result that he conceived a plan which, if it could only be carried successfully out, might obviate everything unpleasant.
"Lawrence," he said, "is a good fellow. A little too good, perhaps. I have never pretended to be an anchorite. I've too much warm blood still in my veins. Come to that, I'm to all intents and purposes a younger man than my son. I have the greatest respect for Lawrence, but he seems to have been born old."
"You can't say that of Carrissima!"
"No, no, a dear girl," he replied. "But a little sarcastic at times. I detest sarcasm. I won't allow it. But no man can control a woman's face. I can see Carrissima's smile," he added, taking out his handkerchief and mopping his forehead.
"How ridiculous," said Bridget, "to make yourself so uncomfortable on my account."
"Let him laugh who wins!" cried Colonel Faversham. "If they think I'm a fool—well, I don't want to be wise. Of course, there's one way——"
"What is that?" asked Bridget.
"I don't know whether you would put up with it," said the colonel. "Why," he suggested with eager eyes on her face, "why in the world shouldn't we keep it to ourselves?"
"How would it be possible?" she said, with a thoughtful expression.
"Trust me for that," was the answer. "There are few things I can't do when I make up my mind. Admit the principle, and everything else is easy! Keep it dark, you know. In the first place you've got to promise to be my wife. We don't breathe a word to any living being. Then one fine morning we go out and get the knot tied: at a registry office, a church, anywhere you like."
"I shouldn't feel that I was properly married," said Bridget, "unless I went to church."
"Then you will!" urged Colonel Faversham, half beside himself with satisfaction.
"Please let me hear the whole scheme," she insisted.
"Don't you see," he explained, "you and I—my dear little wife—would be off somewhere abroad. Anywhere you choose!"
"Italy," said Bridget. "We would travel through to Milan, then on toRome, Naples, Capri—Capri would be delightful."
"My darling!"
"But," she continued, "your plan is quite out of the question. I hate anything resembling secrecy. Surely you don't imagine that if I married you I shouldn't want every one to know."
"Why, naturally," said the colonel. "We should send Carrissima a telegram from Paris. The point is that she wouldn't know what had happened until we were out of reach. By the time we got back to Grandison Square she would have learnt to take a sensible view of the accomplished fact. So would Lawrence."
"Oh dear, you sound like a child who is bent on doing something he ought to be ashamed of!"
"It's true you make me feel like a boy again," he admitted. "Not that I have ever felt anything you could call old or even middle-aged. It will be the proudest day of my life if you consent," he added, and then Bridget broke into a laugh. She threw back her head as if she were putting away every misgiving, and Colonel Faversham drew near with the intention to take her in his arms. Her demeanour suddenly stiffened, however. In a condescending way she graciously permitted him to press his lips to her cheek; nor was this unexpected reserve the only drawback to his new happiness.
In his impetuosity he called her attention to the advantage of a quiet wedding, since there would be no absurd preparations to cause delay. As they had only to please themselves, they might just as well get married forthwith . . . say next week or the week after. Bridget, however, quite good-humouredly refused to entertain any suggestion of the kind, protesting that she had done enough for one morning. With these mitigations, Colonel Faversham's glee appeared fatuous. Always disposed to boast of his capacity to vie with men a quarter of a century younger than himself, he had never, surely, done so well as now! He went to Donaldson's for a diamond ring, which was put on Bridget's finger the same afternoon, although she declared it must be taken off again the moment he had gone. The secret must be thoroughly kept!
While Colonel Faversham approved of every endeavour to keep Carrissima and everybody else in the dark for the present, he was determined to stand no nonsense. He requested her to go to Golfney Place, and following the line of least resistance, she went, persuading Bridget to come to Grandison Square as her father wished. There one afternoon a few days after the beginning of her engagement she met Jimmy Clynesworth.