The Project Gutenberg eBook ofEnter BridgetThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Enter BridgetAuthor: Thomas CobbRelease date: April 28, 2006 [eBook #18280]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENTER BRIDGET ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Enter BridgetAuthor: Thomas CobbRelease date: April 28, 2006 [eBook #18280]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines
Title: Enter Bridget
Author: Thomas Cobb
Author: Thomas Cobb
Release date: April 28, 2006 [eBook #18280]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENTER BRIDGET ***
Produced by Al Haines
MILLS & BOON, LIMITED
Published 1912.
Concerning Bridget there was from the outset considerable difference of opinion. Mark Driver, for instance, always showed a tendency to something more than tolerance, and even Carrissima Faversham, in spite of a manifestly unfavourable bias, strove to hold the balance even. It was her brother Lawrence who took the most adverse view; insisting that Miss Rosser was neither more nor less than an adventuress—"a pretty woman on the make" was his expression, uttered, it is true, before he had an opportunity of seeing her face.
Her entrance on the scene was heralded by Mark Driver one evening towards the end of March, when he had accepted an invitation to dine with his sister and Lawrence in Charteris Street, S.W.
Carrissima's maid found her so exacting that evening, that she might have been going to an important party, instead of merely to a quiet dinner with her brother and his wife; but then, expecting Mark to make a fourth, she wished to look her very best, and flattered herself she had succeeded.
Although she sometimes longed for the power to add a few inches to her stature, she realized that she had already much to be thankful for. Suppose, for example, that her eyebrows had been as fair as her hair, or even worse, her eyelashes, which as it happened were satisfactorily black.
Mr. Lawrence Faversham, barrister-at-law, was thirty-two years of age, and rather short, although he always held his head in the air as if he were doing his best to appear taller. Hearing the street door bell ring, Mrs. Lawrence Faversham waylaid Carrissima on the stairs and insisted on taking her to gaze at little Victor, aged two, peacefully sleeping in the nursery.
"Mark's late as usual," exclaimed Lawrence, as his sister presently sailed into the drawing-room. "Ten minutes past eight," he added, taking her hand.
He had fair hair, a long narrow face and sloping shoulders. Whether he was sitting down or standing up, there always seemed to be something stiff, self-important and formal about him.
"Mark wasn't due at King's Cross until tea-time," said Phoebe, a pretty brunette, several inches taller than her husband and seven years younger. "I wanted him to sleep here to-night, and really I cannot imagine why he refused."
"Not very complimentary to us," answered Lawrence, "to prefer to go to an hotel!"
"And," Phoebe explained, "he is off to Paris to-morrow morning."
"Well, I wish to goodness he would come soon if he's coming at all," grumbled Lawrence.
"Oh, of course, he's certain to be here," urged Phoebe, not liking to begin dinner without her brother, who might provokingly arrive as soon as they sat down; while on the other hand, her three years' experience of married life had taught her that it was undesirable to keep Lawrence waiting. When half-past eight struck, however, she could restrain his impatience no longer; the three went to the dining-room, and Carrissima, with a sense of profound disappointment, sat down at the round table opposite the empty chair.
Although Phoebe did her utmost to spin out the meal by eating with tantalizing and hygienic slowness, it ended without any sign of the absentee, and at last she felt bound to return to the drawing-room, where she was followed ten minutes later by Lawrence, who had stayed to smoke a cigarette.
"The worst of it is," he said, standing before the fire, "you never know quite where you are with Mark."
"I suppose," suggested Carrissima, "the simple fact of the matter is that he missed his train."
"In that case," returned her brother, "surely he might have run to sixpence for a telegram. For a steady-going fellow Mark is about as erratic as they're made."
"How extremely inconsistent!" exclaimed Carrissima.
"Not at all!" said Lawrence, frowning, as he took a chair. "A man may drive crookedly without exceeding the limit. Although there are things you can swear Mark would never dream of doing, you never know what folly he will be up to next."
As Lawrence was speaking in his rather pompous manner, the door opened and Mark Driver entered the room: tall, broad-shouldered, with a handsome, alert, shaven face and an obvious appearance of haste.
On leaving Cambridge he had gone to Saint Bartholomew's, and having completed his course there, taken a post as House Surgeon at Saint Josephine's, a small hospital in a southeastern suburb. Mark remained there two years and left at Christmas; after spending a few weeks idly in London he went to take charge of Doctor Bunbury's practice in Yorkshire, principally for the sake of being near to his own people, and having passed two months, more occupied by sport than patients, returned this afternoon.
"Why didn't you come in time for dinner?" demanded Phoebe, as he kissed her cheek.
"Upon my word, I am most awfully sorry," he replied, and turned at once to Carrissima, who was striving to hide her satisfaction on seeing his face again. Never, perhaps, during their long acquaintance, had they been so many months apart; but while Mark was in London between Christmas and his departure for the North of England, Carrissima had been on a long visit to Devonshire.
"I didn't expect to meet you this evening," said Mark. "Phoebe told me in her letter last week that you were staying in Shropshire with Colonel Faversham."
"So I was," returned Carrissima. "But I never had the least intention to live there for the remainder of my life."
"She took us all completely by surprise," explained Phoebe, "by coming home the day before yesterday."
"I really cannot understand even now," said Lawrence, "why in the world you couldn't stay to return with father!"
"Oh well, it's an ill-wind that blows no one any good," cried Mark, while Carrissima sat with her eyes averted, hoping that nobody would suspect her actual object.
But she had known of his intention to depart for Paris the next morning, to spend a month with his old friend Wentworth before finally settling down in London. If she had waited for Colonel Faversham's return to Grandison Square she must, obviously, have missed Mark Driver again. One of the chief purposes of Carrissima's life seemed to be the disguise of motives, concerning which she scarcely knew whether she ought to feel ashamed or not.
"Well," suggested Lawrence, "we haven't heard why you didn't turn up in time."
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," said Mark, at last shaking hands with his brother-in-law.
"Only half-an-hour!"
"You see," Mark explained, "I dined at Belloni's."
"Good gracious!" answered Lawrence, with evident annoyance, "if you could go to Belloni's, why in the world couldn't you come here as you promised?"
"I meant to come," said Mark, looking somewhat embarrassed, as he glanced at Carrissima. "You see, I went to Duffield's Hotel in Craven Street direct from the station. I thought I would just potter about and smoke a pipe or so till it was time to change."
"But you haven't changed!" exclaimed Lawrence, with a disapproving frown at Mark's blue serge jacket. It no doubt suited his long, athletic figure admirably; but, nevertheless, was very much out of place in present circumstances.
"No, of course not," said Mark. "The fact is I altered my mind.Instead of hanging about at Duffield's, I thought I would go to GolfneyPlace."
"What on earth for?"
"Oh well, to see Bridget, you know," answered Mark, and once more he glanced at Carrissima, whose eyes met his own.
"Who is Bridget?" asked Phoebe, whereupon Mark swung round to face her, his hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets, his face slightly flushed.
"Miss Rosser," he said. "You remember Bridget Rosser, Phoebe! When we stayed at Crowborough four years ago."
"Five," suggested Lawrence, with his usual meticulous exactitude.
"You were not there," said Mark.
"But still," answered Lawrence, "I remember going down with father to look at the house before he made up his mind to take it."
"I recollect Bridget perfectly well," said Carrissima in her most cheerful tone. "Her father was David Rosser the novelist."
"He died in Paris about ten months ago," explained Mark, "and Bridget was his only daughter."
"A rather nice-looking girl, with reddish hair!" said Phoebe.
"The most wonderful hair!" exclaimed Mark. "I have never seen anything like it. Oh, she's wonderful altogether!"
"Where did you come across Miss Rosser again?" inquired Lawrence, whileCarrissima wished that her cheeks would not tingle so uncomfortably.
"At the Old Masters' about three months ago—just after Christmas," replied Mark. "I had lately left Saint Josephine's, you know. I should never have recognized her, but she happened to drop her purse; I naturally picked it up, and then she asked whether my name wasn't Driver."
"Isn't Golfney Place chiefly lodging-houses?" asked Carrissima.
"Number Five is one, anyhow."
"Does Miss Rosser live with her mother?" suggested Phoebe.
"Mrs. Rosser died shortly after we left Crowborough," was the answer. "Then the house was given up. Bridget wandered about Europe with her father until his own death a little less than a year ago."
"Then," demanded Lawrence, "whom does she live with?"
"Oh, she's quite on her own."
"What is her age, for goodness' sake?"
"Upon my word, I don't know for certain," said Mark. "I couldn't very well inquire. I should say she's about the same age as Carrissima."
"As a matter of prosaic fact," answered Carrissima, forcing a smile, although she did not feel very cheerful at the moment, "she is a few months older."
"Well," Lawrence persisted, "after picking up the purse at the OldMasters', what was the next move in the game?"
Phoebe was beginning to look rather anxious. She realized that Mark was growing impatient under Lawrence's cross-examination—he was supposed to be a skilful cross-examiner. It was occasionally a little difficult to keep the peace between these two men, who were her dearest; with the exception, perhaps, of the little man up-stairs.
"Bridget asked me to call," said Mark, "or I asked whether I might. I forget which, and what in the world does it matter?"
"Anyhow, you went!"
"Why, of course," was the answer.
"Is Miss Rosser—is she hard up, by any chance?" asked Lawrence.
"Good Lord, no!" exclaimed Mark. "My dear fellow, you've got quite a wrong impression. Hard up! You've only to see her."
"No doubt," suggested Lawrence, "you have had numerous opportunities."
"Oh well," said Mark, with a shrug, "she was on her lonesome and so wasI at the time. It was just before I went to Yorkshire, you know.Carrissima was in Devonshire and I was kicking my heels in idleness atDuffield's."
"It really was rather too bad," remarked Phoebe, "to go there this evening, considering that you were engaged to dine with us. Wasn't it, Carrissima?"
"Oh, it was shameful of you, Mark!" cried Carrissima, with a laugh.
"You understand how it was," he explained, taking a chair by her side. "I didn't mean to stay ten minutes. I thought I could get there and back comfortably in a taxi, and so I should, but——"
"The temptation proved too strong for you," suggested Lawrence.
"I don't know what you mean by 'temptation,'" retorted Mark, while Phoebe tried to catch her husband's eye. "Bridget was most awfully pleased to see me. She had a fit of the blues for some reason or other."
"Is she liable to that sort of thing?" asked Lawrence.
"Not a bit of it," said Mark enthusiastically. "She's just about the brightest girl you have ever seen in your life. That was what made it the more upsetting. I felt I must do something to cheer her up."
"So you took her to Belloni's!" said Lawrence. "They do you uncommonly well at Belloni's."
"Anyhow," Mark admitted, "they gave us some ripping Burgundy. I got away directly we finished dinner," he continued, "and I knew Phoebe wouldn't mind."
"Well," said Lawrence, in response to her warning frown, "now you're here, suppose we have a game at bridge."
To put the matter plainly, Carrissima was jealous.
It was half-past eleven when she reached her father's house at Number 13, Grandison Square, S.W., and she felt pleased to find that the fire was still alight in the drawing-room. Having told the butler that he need not sit up any longer, she threw off her long cloak, leaned back in an easy-chair right in front of the grate, crossed her feet on the fender, and clasped her miniature waist.
Remembering Bridget Rosser, with her vivid chestnut-coloured hair, her somewhat pale skin, her wonderful eyes (as Mark quite justifiably described them), her face, which was extraordinarily attractive, although it might not contain one perfect feature, Carrissima could not help feeling that there might be serious cause for jealousy.
Of course, it was evident that Mark had not expected to find her at Charteris Street; he had believed she was still at Church Stretton with Colonel Faversham, and perhaps, if he had been aware of her presence in London, Lawrence might not have had to wait for his dinner. Moreover, Mark Driver was precisely the kind of man who would go out of his way to do any woman a good turn—pretty or plain; but still, after making every allowance, the fact remained that Carrissima was jealous.
It had for long been an open question (in her own mind at least) whether he cared for her or not. If he did, she would have liked to know why he had waited so long before putting his fate to the touch, although the matter was again complicated by the sensitiveness of Mark's disposition.
Carrissima's modest fortune (derived from her mother), which would have proved a temptation to many men, might be an obstacle where he was concerned. The fact that it was just what he required at the beginning of his career might easily be conceived as holding him back. Not that she imagined that, in favourable circumstances, it would be regarded as a perpetual barrier; only Mark might prefer to wait until he had settled down to the more serious practice of the profession, about which no man could be keener. The truth was that Carrissima was prone to search for a variety of explanations for his backwardness, all more or less fantastic.
The immediate question was: Should she take any notice of BridgetRosser, or leave her to her own devices?
In the ordinary course of things, Carrissima would scarcely have hesitated. If she had been told by anybody else that Bridget was living alone in London, doubtless she would have lost very little time in finding her way to Number 5, Golfney Place. She invariably strove to act in every particular as if she were entirely disinterested, although she was far from being so. She knew that her life's happiness depended solely on Mark!
Five years ago Bridget had been barely eighteen; she had looked even younger than Carrissima: a slim, graceful girl, apparently just fresh from the school-room. She lived in a delightful, old-fashioned house with a rambling garden, situated about a quarter of a mile from that which Colonel Faversham had rented furnished for the summer because of its proximity to the golf-course.
His wife had died twelve months earlier, and Carrissima, in her eighteenth year, proved an inexperienced hostess to the relays of visitors, who included, amongst others, Mark Driver (at that time a medical student), his sister Phoebe and Miss Sybil Clynesworth. At the club-house Colonel Faversham met David Rosser and Mrs. Rosser, already an invalid, having been wheeled over in her bath-chair to make Carrissima's acquaintance; there were henceforth frequent journeyings on bicycles between the two houses, until the time arrived for the Favershams' return to London.
One or two letters had been exchanged between Carrissima and Bridget, who was invited to stay in Grandison Square; but the visit was prevented by Mrs. Rosser's increasing illness, and so the intercourse between the two families fell off.
Carrissima had not seen Bridget since their parting at the railway station five years ago. Ought she to go and see her now? If she refrained, might not people suspect some hidden motive? Her brother Lawrence, for instance, who was apt to search for mysterious springs of action, and who must not on any account be allowed to hit upon the true one.
No doubt Carrissima was sensitive and self-conscious; moreover, she was jealous. She was, however, extremely curious also—curious to see for herself how Bridget had developed—and in the end she made up her mind to go to Golfney Place. She looked very small and bright when, a few days later, she set forth, wearing the new set of furs, which were certainly her most becoming apparel. She had hesitated whether the March afternoon was really cold enough to justify their use, and before reaching her destination came to the conclusion that it was not.
But, regarding Bridget as possibly a rival, she wished to make her bravest show. With her dark, wide-brimmed hat, her remarkably fair hair, her fresh, clear complexion and her diminutive but piquantly womanly figure, she assuredly need not fear any ordinary comparison.
Golfney Place is a secluded thoroughfare, containing a few intensely respectable-looking shops, an estate-agent's office, a church and some superior lodging-houses. These, like the church, were all painted white, and, indeed, some of them were at present receiving their fresh spring coats.
The door of Number 5 was opened by a middle-aged man, Mr. Miller, the proprietor of the house, and indistinguishable in appearance from an ordinary butler.
"Miss Rosser?" said Carrissima, and, taking her up-stairs, he stopped to ask her name on the first landing.
"Miss Faversham," he announced, as she walked into the drawing-room, a large, lofty room with three windows, rather ornately furnished, and reminding Carrissima of various scenes on the stage. Before the fireplace stood a sofa covered with cretonne of a florid pattern, and from the middle of this Bridget rose.
She was obviously formed to play havoc with the hearts of men, and although she could scarcely be described as beautiful, she was no doubt marvellously seductive. If her features were not regular, the ensemble was delightful, even in the estimation of one who felt disposed to criticize. Her face would have run to a point at the chin if this had not been blunted by an entrancing dimple. Bridget's vivid chestnut-coloured hair grew low over a somewhat wide forehead, while her eyes were dark and curiously expressive.
Without being conspicuously tall, she had the advantage of her guest by several inches, although her figure might be less developed, or perhaps it looked smaller because of her additional inches. She obviously employed an excellent dressmaker, and if she had hitherto been compelled to hide her light under a bushel, she had surely only to be seen to conquer. The important question was: Had she already succeeded in conquering Mark Driver?
For an instant she stood gazing at Carrissima as if unable to believe either her ears or her eyes; then with a slow, gliding movement, in contrast with the other's more rapid, impulsive manner, she came forward holding out both hands.
"Why, it's Carrissima, after all these many, many years!" she exclaimed, and without a moment's hesitation kissed her cheek, just as she had done at parting that long time ago. "How nice of you to come," she continued, still retaining one of her guest's hands, and leading her to the sofa. "I suppose it was Mark who asked you," she said, as they both sat down.
"He didn't exactly ask me," returned Carrissima. "Of course I shouldn't have known you were in London but for him. I met him at my brother's the other evening."
"Ah, that was the night he arrived so late for dinner," said Bridget."Did he get into the most dreadful scrape?"
"Anyhow," was the answer, "I suppose he was able to start to Paris the next morning, as I haven't heard to the contrary."
"Oh yes," cried Bridget, "if he hadn't gone I should have seen him here. Isn't it tiresome of him!"
"What?" asked Carrissima.
"No sooner coming back to London than off he must go the very next day. He came to see me directly he returned from Yorkshire," Bridget explained, "and—well, I happened to have a fit of the miserables. I assure you I am not often taken that way. Mark was tremendously nice—he always is, isn't he? He insisted that I should go out to dinner and what could I do?"
"Why, nothing but go," replied Carrissima, with the utmost cheerfulness.
"Still," said Bridget, "he seemed quite worried about his brother-in-law. I mustn't tell tales out of school, and Mr. Faversham is your brother, isn't he? Won't you unfasten those furs," she suggested. "You must find them rather warm to-day, although I'm certain I should have put them on in spite of the temperature if they were mine. Perfectly lovely! Do let me help you!"
She turned on the wide sofa to face Carrissima and deftly unhooked the furs, taking the end of the stole in her hands and pressing it against her cheek. When the butler brought in the tea-tray, Bridget asked him to move a small table on to the hearthrug, and as soon as he left the room again she began to talk while pouring out the tea.
"How often," she cried, "I have wondered whether I should ever see you again during this earthly pilgrimage. Sugar?" she asked. "You remember our dear old house and the delightful garden! Of course my darling mother's illness had begun before you came to Crowborough. Poor father was never really the same after her death."
She paused, holding a cup and saucer in her hand, but turning her eyes towards the window. Carrissima saw that they were moist when Bridget began again.
"We gave up the house because he couldn't rest long in any one place, and yet he could never write at his best moving about. You know, Carrissima, it was really a tragedy. He took such pains—writing and re-writing, especially after he and I were left alone; but he knew he wasn't reaching his own standard. He never said a word, but of course I saw he was worrying himself to death. I have copies of all his novels; they are over on that shelf," she said, turning towards a pair of hanging shelves at the farther end of the room. "And there are portfolios full of press cuttings. I used to cut them out and paste them in for him. It seems like a dream to look back. You know I used to think of you as ever so much older than myself, because you seemed to be the mistress of the house."
"Well," answered Carrissima, "I am not many months younger."
"Ah! but now I regard you as quite a child in comparison."
"That doesn't prevent me from being twenty-two," said Carrissima.
"No, of course not, but the actual years are nothing. It's all that's crowded into them—oh dear! I have had such experiences! During the last few months of poor father's life we lived in anappartementin Paris, and afterwards I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I kept it on for myself. I used to go to Ronseau's studio—you've heard of Ronseau?—till he convinced me it wasn't of the slightest use to persevere. Then I came to London and soon began to wish I hadn't. Because I did know ever so many people in Paris, but over here I can't tell you how deadly dull it was until I met Mark."
"You must come and see me as soon as you can," suggested Carrissima.
"Oh dear, yes," said Bridget. "Do let me fasten your furs!" she added, as Carrissima rose from the sofa. "I shall return your visit as early as if you were a royal personage. I shall love to come."
"Number 13, Grandison Square," said Carrissima. "It is not very far, and I am quite alone just now. I don't know whether you remember my father——"
"Very indistinctly," answered Bridget.
"He is away at Church Stretton playing golf."
"Then you are in the same unprotected condition as I am," suggestedBridget.
"Oh well, I have the advantage of a peculiarly attentive brother. Lawrence has the firm and unalterable opinion that no woman under forty is capable of looking after herself. During my father's absence he generally pays me a visit once every twenty-four hours, either on his way home from the Temple or after dinner. I shall expect you before many days," said Carrissima, and Bridget insisted on accompanying her down to the hall.
Carrissima walked back to Grandison Square, feeling not a whit less jealous than she had set out. There seemed, it is true, something about Bridget Rosser to which she was scarcely accustomed in her own personal friends; something difficult to describe. It might be due to an innate ingenuousness, or, in part, to the quasi-Bohemian life she had probably lived during the last few years abroad.
There seemed to be an absence of reticence; a kind of natural freedom which assuredly had a charm of its own, although some persons might not approve of it—Lawrence, for one!
He came to Grandison Square the same evening, entering the drawing-room still wearing his heavy overcoat.
"A bitter wind has sprung up," he said, standing close to the fire.
"What a pity you took the trouble to turn out in it," suggestedCarrissima, always rather inclined to resent his superintendence.
"What have you been doing all day?" he asked. "You haven't givenPhoebe a look in."
"I went to Golfney Place this afternoon," was the answer.
"Golfney Place——"
"To renew my acquaintance with Bridget," said Carrissima.
"Quite unnecessary!" retorted Lawrence.
"Far better if you had stayed away."
"Why?" demanded Carrissima.
"Phoebe suggested going," said Lawrence; "but I wouldn't allow it for a moment."
"It's certain," cried Carrissima, "that she is a standing example of the way not to treat a husband. How ridiculous to form a prejudice against any one you have never even seen."
"If she had been the sort of woman I should like my wife to call upon," said Lawrence, "she wouldn't have allowed Mark to see her so often. A woman who lives alone! Why on earth couldn't you leave her to stew in her own juice? I don't wish to see my brother-in-law make an idiot of himself."
"Anyhow," returned Carrissima, "it can't have been Mark's account that set you against her."
"Oh, of course," exclaimed Lawrence, "Mark would swallow anything."
"It is his business in life," said Carrissima, with a laugh, "to make other people swallow things, isn't it, Lawrence?"
He went away dissatisfied, and the following Monday afternoon Bridget Rosser paid her first visit to Number 13, Grandison Square. Although her movements were even and unhurried, her appearance in her out-of-door garments was conspicuous. The brim of her hat struck Carrissima as being a shade wider than that of any one else, her dress closer about the ankles, while yet she wore it without a trace of anything that could be called vulgarity.
"I should have come even earlier," she said, taking Carrissima's hand; "but I only got back from Sandbay this morning. I have been staying since Saturday with my aunts; the dearest little Dresden china aunts in the world. They are my mother's sisters and they give me no peace. You see, they are terribly Early Victorian. You were saying that your brother insisted that no woman under forty is capable of looking after herself. Well, Aunt Jane and Aunt Frances think honestly that I am going to perdition as fast as I can."
"I suppose," suggested Carrissima, "they would like you to live with them?"
"Oh dear! they are quite mad about it. You know everybody is mad about something! They write every week, but I positively couldn't endure it. Of course my father did his best to put me off, although I believe his chief objection was that they had a hatred of tobacco."
"Still," said Carrissima, "I don't suppose you are a confirmed smoker and they might be good for you. I don't think I am Early Victorian, but still——"
"Oh, I know!" cried Bridget; "but fancy wasting any little sweetness one may possess on the desert air of Sandbay. I should simply go mad—stark, staring mad. Carrissima," she continued, "I suppose you know heaps and heaps of people. So did I when my father was alive—people who do things, whose names you read in the papers, who think for themselves and make others follow their lead. Oh, I long to be in the movement!"
Rising slowly from her chair, and with perfect coolness, she took a framed cabinet photograph from a table between the windows.
"Is this Colonel Faversham?" she asked. "I remember him now quite distinctly."
The portrait showed a man of middle height, rather taller than Lawrence, with much broader shoulders. His face had an almost dissipated expression, and he wore a large, pointed moustache. His hair was still plentiful, although it had been grey when Bridget last saw him; his eyes were somewhat prominent, and he held himself unusually erect.
"How old is your father?" asked Bridget.
"Sixty-five," was the answer.
"He doesn't look so old!"
"Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to hear you say that!" cried Carrissima. "But the photograph was taken some years ago."
"Have you only one brother?" asked Bridget.
"Only one living. I had another brother and a sister. They came between me and Lawrence, and died a long time ago."
"I love looking at photographs," said Bridget, putting that of Colonel Faversham back in its place. "I hope you don't mind—whose is this?" she inquired, taking up another frame.
"Oh, that is Jimmy!" cried Carrissima.
"Why do you laugh?" said Bridget.
"I really don't quite know. There's nothing very comical in his appearance, is there? Only somehow one does laugh about him."
"I think," said Bridget, "he is one of the pleasantest-looking men I have ever seen."
"Yes, Jimmy has a nice face," returned Carrissima.
"Of course," Bridget continued, with her eyes still on the photograph, "it isn't so distinctly handsome as Mark's."
"Perhaps not," was the answer; "I thought you had seen him while we were at Crowborough. Mr. Clynesworth. Although his name is Rupert everybody has called him Jimmy since his school days."
"I remember Miss Clynesworth," suggested Bridget.
"His sister—or, rather, his half-sister. She might be his mother by the way she tries to look after him."
"Does he require a lot of looking after?" asked Bridget.
"Oh, I don't know," said Carrissima. "He is one of those men who somehow give you the impression they could do wonderful things, and if they would. He is immensely rich and nice-looking, as you say, and people do their best to spoil him. I won't insist that they have succeeded. Anyhow, he is immensely good to Sybil. Her father was a physician, and she lost her mother when she was a small child. When she was about ten Doctor Clynesworth married again. His second wife was very wealthy, and, to judge by her portrait at Upper Grosvenor Street, she must have been a beautiful woman. All her money went to her only son—Jimmy, but Doctor Clynesworth had very little to leave to Sybil. Jimmy insisted that she should continue to live at the house in which her father had practised, and he is immensely fond of her although they are about as different as any two persons can possibly be. Should you," asked Carrissima, "like me to ask her to come and see you?"
"Do you think she would?" said Bridget, returning the photograph to the table.
"I am certain she would be delighted, especially if I explain that you have no one to chaperon you," replied Carrissima, whereupon Bridget smiled as if she were quite convinced of her ability to take care of herself. On saying "Good-bye" Carrissima made a point of urging her to come to Grandison Square as often as she felt inclined, and from that time forth she regarded Miss Rosser with curiously mingled sensations.
While it proved difficult to refrain from liking the girl, with her frank joyousness, her youthful zest in life, the possession of such qualities furnished an additional excuse for that jealousy which still dominated Carrissima's waking thoughts. Without forming any definite design, the idea certainly occurred to her that Mark might come to occupy a smaller space in Bridget's sphere of things, if only she knew a few more of his kind.
The following afternoon Carrissima, according to her promise, went to Upper Grosvenor Street, where lived Sybil Clynesworth and, when he pleased, Jimmy. He had, however, a country house at Atlinghurst, and when he stayed in London sometimes preferred a room at one of his clubs, to that which his sister always kept in readiness.
On reaching the house Carrissima was disappointed to hear that Sybil had gone away the previous morning.
"When do you expect her back?" asked Carrissima.
"I have no idea," said the butler; "but Mr. Clynesworth might know."
"Mr. Clynesworth is in London then?" cried Carrissima, and in fact, he came out of the dining-room on the left of the hall the next moment.
The Favershams, the Drivers and the Clynesworths were old friends. They had known each other from their earliest years, and the three boys had gone to the same preparatory school at Brighton. Sybil, considerably the oldest of the group, tried still to hope that Jimmy would marry Carrissima, although for that matter, she would have rejoiced to see him the husband of any woman whom she could love.
Jimmy Clynesworth was about thirty years of age; a little younger than Lawrence Faversham, a little older than Mark Driver. In height he was between them, a little above the average; not a tall man, certainly not short, well built, but not noticeably broad-shouldered, and wearing this afternoon a rough, darkish tweed suit, fitting him rather loosely. In fact, you could not imagine Jimmy tightly buttoned up or putting on an uncomfortably high collar, or doing anything solely for the sake of appearances.
He had a somewhat round face, with straight dark hair and an almost downy-looking moustache, which barely hid his lips, although it was not brushed upwards in the mode of the moment. His eyes were rather far apart and he was characterized by an appearance of perfect health and equability of temperament.
"Hullo, Carrissima!" he exclaimed, coming forward to the door with his hand outstretched, "what a stroke of luck!"
"I wanted to see Sybil," she explained.
"She has gone to the Ramsbottoms," said Jimmy. "Old Lady Ramsbottom was taken ill. She sent for Sybil yesterday, as people do when they're seedy, you know. Won't you come in?" he added.
"No, thank you, Jimmy. I mustn't stay," returned Carrissima.
"Now, that's sheer conventionality," he insisted. "You would really like to come in and have a talk, but for the melancholy reason that I'm alone, you're afraid."
"Oh, wise young judge!" said Carrissima.
"Well, if you're obstinate I'll walk back with you," he suggested, taking a bowler hat from the stand, while the butler handed his gloves and cane. "I've nothing in the world to do," he added, as they walked away from the house.
"You never have, Jimmy!"
"No, I'm the most dreadful waster," he admitted. "I've just been reading a penny pamphlet—by one of the labour members, and upon my word, it made me squirm like one o'clock. Did you want to see Sybil about anything of cosmic importance?" Jimmy asked.
"Oh dear, no," said Carrissima, as they crossed the park. "Only to ask her to call on a girl she met when we were staying at Crowborough some years ago."
"What's she like—pretty, by any chance?"
"Very pretty," answered Carrissima.
"Then I'm your man. I can go instead if you give me the address, and there's no time like the present."
"Jimmy, you must try not to be ridiculous," said Carrissima. "For some reason you can't have seen her during the few days you stayed with us."
"What is her name?"
"Bridget Rosser. Her father was a novelist——"
"Oh!" cried Jimmy, "you mean David Rosser. I remember that the colonel introduced me; besides, I happened to run up against him again a few months later. A man who never got his due. David Rosser had a style, you know: a little precious, perhaps, if that's a drawback. So you know his daughter! I will see that Sybil goes to see Miss Rosser. Then," said Jimmy, "I shall have a look in."
Colonel Faversham came home on Wednesday evening, the day after Carrissima's visit to Upper Grosvenor Street. She was sitting alone in the drawing-room, doubtful as to the precise date of his return, when she suddenly became aware of his presence in the house.
Colonel Faversham was apt to be noisy and blusterous. He had a loud voice, a rather demonstrative cough, he walked with a heavy tread, and, in fact, was generally assertive. Carrissima, not wishing to fail in her filial duty, went down-stairs to meet him in the hall, as the butler was helping him off with his thick overcoat.
"Ah, Carrissima!" he exclaimed at the top of his voice, "I'm sorry I didn't wire; but, to tell you the truth, I forgot all about it. Well, how are you—quite well? Glad to see me back again, eh?"
"Very glad indeed," was the dutiful answer.
"That's all right. I've had dinner—if you can call it dining in the train. Where's the best fire to be found?"
"You may as well come to the drawing-room," said Carrissima.
"Good!" replied the colonel, and then turned to the butler. "Knight,I'll have some soda and whisky."
He accompanied Carrissima up-stairs, blowing out his red cheeks and beating his cold hands together with considerable energy. Going to the fire, he stood on the hearthrug warming his palms and making perfunctory inquiries after Lawrence and Phoebe and their child.
"How do you think I'm looking?" he demanded, suddenly facing Carrissima.
"Splendid," she answered. "I don't think I have ever seen you looking better."
"Well, I never felt better," he exclaimed, putting back his shoulders and puffing out his chest. "Never in the whole course of my life. Nobody at the hotel would believe I was anything like my age—fifty or fifty-five at the outside. Upon my soul, I can scarcely believe it myself. I can give a start to a good many youngsters yet. Not too much soda-water, Knight," he added, when the whisky and the syphon were brought in. "What's been happening while I've been away?" he asked, alone again with Carrissima.
"I wonder," she suggested, "whether you remember our holiday atCrowborough some years ago?"
"Remember it—of course I remember it. Do you think I'm in my dotage. You make an immense mistake. My memory was never better. I will back it against yours any day."
"Then you haven't forgotten Mr. Rosser——"
"Rosser!" cried Colonel Faversham. "A shortish man with a red beard and an invalid wife: wrote twaddling novels. I tried to read one of them—couldn't get through it. He played a devilish good game all the same. What about him?"
"I have met his daughter," said Carrissima, and, in reply to her father's demand for further information, she told him all she knew about Bridget; how that she had made Mark Driver late for dinner; how that, after some dubitation, a visit had been paid to Golfney Place, and duly returned.
On learning that Bridget was good to look upon and only a few months older that Carrissima, Colonel Faversham blinked his eyes and fingered his large grey moustache. He took a cigar from his case by and by, Carrissima trying to stifle her yawns while he talked about golf and described some of his hands at bridge. To illustrate his skill, he made her bring some cards, and, sweeping clear a space on the table, kept her up until past midnight.
Colonel Faversham always came to breakfast with brisk and almost aggressive robustness. He had an enormous appetite, and when this was at last satisfied, it was his custom to retire with the newspaper to his smoking-room until eleven o'clock. The morning was so bright that he began to regret his return to London, although it was true that he could reach his favourite golf-course in three-quarters of an hour in a taxi-cab. There, indeed, Colonel Faversham spent the most of his waking hours, usually finishing up with a couple of hours' bridge before returning by rail to Grandison Square in time for dinner. Then he was occasionally irritable, and although he would never admit that he felt tired, Carrissima had her own opinion.
On the Saturday after his return from Church Stretton, however, he stayed at home, and as he sat smoking after an excellent luncheon, Carrissima came in wearing her hat and jacket.
"I'm going to see Phoebe," she explained, in the act of fastening her gloves. "I don't suppose I shall be home to tea unless you want me."
"Want you!" was the answer. "Good heavens, no! Why in the world should I want you. Do you imagine I can't feed myself? Thank goodness, I'm not in my second childhood yet. Besides, I shall most likely have tea at the club. What a day, Carrissima! What a day!"
Having finished his cigar about a quarter of an hour later, Colonel Faversham went to his dressing-room, where he spent a few minutes brushing his hair with great vigour and twisting his moustache to a point. On going down to the hall again, he noticed that the street door stood open, and that Knight was talking to some one on the threshold. As the colonel took his top hat from the table, he saw that the visitor was a young lady who looked admirably in harmony with the spring season. She wore a lightish grey cloth frock and a wide-brimmed hat, beneath which a vast quantity of chestnut-coloured hair conspicuously appeared.
He reached the open door as she was on the point of turning away, but, seeing him, she hesitated.
"Miss Rosser, colonel," said Knight, standing between the pair.
"Good-afternoon, Miss Rosser," cried Colonel Faversham. "Pray come in! You wish to see Carrissima! I assure you she will be immensely disappointed if you refuse to wait. I may mention that I had the pleasure of knowing your father."
"Oh, I remember you perfectly," she replied. "As well as if it were yesterday."
"Come this way, come this way," he insisted, replacing his hat on the table as she entered the hall. "Carrissima would never forgive me. She was talking about you before I had been in the house ten minutes——"
"But you were just going out," she expostulated. "You mustn't let me take you up-stairs again."
"Stairs are nothing to me," he said. "I could climb a mountain. I have climbed many a one before to-day, and I hope I shall again. What delightful weather!" he continued, as they reached the drawing-room. "It makes one feel quite—quite capable of anything."
She sat down, while the colonel talked about Crowborough and David Rosser; remembering whose vocation, he realized the desirability of giving the conversation a bookish turn. While he was remarking upon some of the most recent publications—quoted from advertisements, for he seldom opened a book—Knight and a small footman brought in the tea equipage. Colonel Faversham invited Bridget to officiate, and told himself how delectable she looked as, half-shyly, she passed his cup and saucer.
"You know, Colonel Faversham," she said, "I cannot help feeling immensely guilty."
"A libel," he protested. "I have never seen a more transparently innocent face in the whole course of my life."
"Still, I am certain I have kept you from going to your club or somewhere. Of course I am duly grateful. Carrissima said I might come here whenever I felt too lonely."
"My dear Miss Rosser," said Colonel Faversham, "I am afraid it must be a rather dull life you're leading. But it will be entirely your own fault if ever you find yourself bored in future. Carrissima has no end of friends, and hers shall be yours. Then there's my daughter-in-law! As for books, my library was left to me by an uncle who had nothing better to do than to read from morning till night. You must allow me to send you a suitable selection."
When Carrissima came home, a little later, she raised her eyebrows on seeing Bridget Rosser presiding at the tea-table, with Colonel Faversham seated rather close by her side. As he began to explain his good fortune in meeting the visitor at the door, Carrissima told herself that she knew exactly how things would turn out!
The truth was that Colonel Faversham had always been somewhat dangerously susceptible. Lawrence could never feel certain that his father was too old to think of marrying again. Carrissima knew that for the next few days he would talk of nobody but Bridget; that he would lend her books, and perhaps even express a wish to invite her to dine. He would on every opportunity pay her extravagant compliments and make himself generally ridiculous; then he would begin to forget her existence and fall back into his ordinary routine of bridge and golf until another attractive face arrested his attention.
Although he sang Miss Rosser's praises loudly that Saturday afternoon, and spoke of her frequently on Sunday and during the next few evenings, Carrissima scarcely suspected that the colonel had met Bridget since her visit to Grandison Square. She was certainly astounded when, going to see her small nephew one afternoon a week or so later, she found that she had run her head into a hornets' nest.
"You have done a fine thing!" said Lawrence. "That is the worst of you."
"Oh, do please tell me what is the best, or at least the medium, for a change," was the answer.
"My dear Carrie——"
"If you call me Carrie you will drive me mad," said Carrissima.
"I fancy you must be," exclaimed her brother, standing on the hearthrug and looking as solemn as the judge he hoped some day to become. One hand was thrust between the buttons of his morning coat, the other clasped its lapelle, his head was flung back, and one foot rested on the fender. "An immense pity," he added, "that you can never mind your own business."
Carrissima skilfully mimicked his attitude.
"May it please you, m'lud, and gentlemen of the jury," she said, causing Lawrence hastily to change his pose, and Phoebe to look a little scandalized.
"There's a time for everything," he insisted, with a blush. "Let me tell you this is no laughing matter."
"You should not make yourself look so ridiculous," said Carrissima."Why should you everlastingly be retained for the prosecution?"
"You would certainly require a clever defence," returned Lawrence. "A fine thing you have done by your unnecessary interference."
"But what am I accused of?" she demanded. "What is all the fuss about?"
"As I was walking home on Saturday," he explained, "I turned up theHaymarket. The people were just going in to the matinée——"
"I mustn't forget I want to go to the Haymarket," said Carrissima.
"Do, for goodness' sake," he expostulated, "try to fix your mind on one thing at a time."
"It depends on its nature," said Carrissima.
"Whom should I see getting out of a taxi," cried Lawrence, "but the colonel and some woman."
"My dear Lawrence," was the answer, "knowing father as well as you pretend to know everybody, surely you cannot imagine there's anything very unusual about that."
"Carrissima," interposed Phoebe, "I really think from Lawrence's description that she must have been Bridget Rosser."
"Oh, but surely not!"
"I think it was," Phoebe insisted.
"He has only seen her once," said Carrissima. "That was on Saturday week. She would scarcely——"
"Let me ask you one question!" cried Lawrence.
"Oh, a dozen," said Carrissima.
"How do you know that was the only time he saw the woman?"
"Of course, I can't say that I know for certain," she admitted.
"There you are! You don't know. You don't even believe. You simply jump to a conclusion. You have no means of knowing. Depend upon it, he has been at Golfney Place over and over again. We shall be fortunate if he doesn't end by marrying her."
"Who is jumping to a conclusion now?" said Carrissima.
"Lawrence dear," suggested Phoebe, quite humbly, "I understood you were afraid she might marry Mark. After all, she can't very well make victims of both him and your father."
"No, but she may like to have two strings to her bow. She may prefer a bird in the hand, and if he should escape, there's Mark to fall back upon."
"After all," said Carrissima, "you have not even seen Bridget. You don't know she has the slightest desire to marry anybody."
"She is simply an adventuress," was the answer. "A pretty woman on the make."
Although Carrissima had little reason to be prejudiced in Miss Rosser's favour, she was the possessor of an elementary sense of justice, and, moreover, it was always a satisfaction to contradict her brother.
"I don't admit you have any right to say that," she protested. "I saw a great deal of her at Crowborough——"
"Five years ago!"
"From what I have seen since," Carrissima continued, "I believe you have found a mare's nest. You seem to forget that father is sixty-five."
"Ah, yes, but he doesn't begin to realize the fact," said Lawrence. "He thinks he is quite capable of acting like an ordinary man of half his age. If you had tried to provide your friend with an easy prey, you couldn't have gone a surer way to work."
Carrissima, however, remained still unconvinced. She walked home to Grandison Square with the inclination to scoff at her brother's fears, although it was true that she was beginning to wish that Bridget had never crossed Colonel Faversham's path.
"Carrissima!" said Colonel Faversham, as he rose from the breakfast-table a day or two after her conversation with Lawrence and Phoebe.
"Yes, father," she answered.
"I have been thinking that it is high time we asked Miss Rosser to dine with us."
He was standing by the window holding the morning paper in his hands, and as he spoke he raised it so that Carrissima could not see his face.
"Oh, but do you really think that is necessary?" she answered, and crushing the paper into a shapeless mass, the colonel turned upon his daughter quite fiercely.
Of course he was convinced that there could be nothing in the least ridiculous in his behaviour! A man, as they say, is as old as he feels, and especially during the last fortnight Colonel Faversham had felt almost a boy again. The spring was in his blood! Moreover, he flattered himself that he had not begun to look old! Still, he was sensitive lest Carrissima should fancy he was making an ass of himself, and, as usual at such times, he began to bluster.
"Necessary!" he shouted, growing dangerously red in the face. "If it comes to that it isn't necessary we should dine at all. Most of us eat a great deal too much. Anyhow, it is very desirable that Miss Rosser should be treated with common courtesy. Besides, I wish it. That, I imagine, ought to be enough! We don't want a crowd or anything elaborate. No infernal fuss or ceremony. Just a family party: just Lawrence and his wife. They have never seen Miss Rosser!"
"Oh yes," said Carrissima. "Lawrence has seen her."
"She told me only the other day that she hadn't met him. I wondered why on earth you hadn't introduced her to Phoebe!"
"Lawrence," Carrissima explained, "saw Bridget going into the HaymarketTheatre with you the other afternoon."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Colonel Faversham, stamping about the room, "it has come to this! I mustn't go to the play without begging my children's permission. I haven't a scrap of individuality of my own left! I am compelled to ask Lawrence before I move a step!"
"Not at all," said Carrissima. "Only I seem to recollect your telling me you were going to play at bridge at the club that Saturday afternoon."
"And mayn't a man change his mind, I should like to know!"
"In time to book seats," suggested Carrissima.
"No sarcasm, if you please," was the answer. "I won't allow it. I simply won't allow it in my house," he added, clenching his fist and bringing it down heavily on the breakfast-table so that the cups and saucers rattled.
"Oh well, father," said Carrissima, "there's not the least use in getting angry, you know."
"I am not angry," cried Colonel Faversham, rubbing the side of his hand.
"I don't know what you would call it!"
"I may have been a little vehement," he replied. "No wonder. I make a simple suggestion, and surely I have a right to expect my daughter to adopt it."
"If Bridget is to be asked to dine," said Carrissima, with a sigh, "I think we ought to invite some one outside our own family."
"Am I the master here, or am I not?" demanded Colonel Faversham. "Very well! You will write to Phoebe to-day. Get her and Lawrence to fix an evening—this week if possible—and then ask Miss Rosser."
"Lawrence is not likely to come," suggested Carrissima.
"Why not?"
"Anyhow, he refused to allow Phoebe to go to Golfney Place!"
"You will kindly do as I tell you," said the colonel. "Lawrence has more sense than you give him credit for."
Carrissima was compelled to admit that her father had a right to act as he pleased. She wrote to Phoebe the same morning, and Lawrence, reading the letter on his return from the Temple, at once declared that nothing on earth should induce him to go and meet "that woman"!
Having dined, however, and smoked a cigarette, he began to take a more tolerant view of the situation. Colonel Faversham had money to bequeath! As Lawrence told Phoebe, it might be their duty to pocket their feelings and consider Victor's future.
Colonel Faversham had the satisfaction of hearing from Bridget's own lips that she should be delighted to dine at his house. He seemed to live only for Bridget during these days. His golf was neglected, and he had come near to a quarrel with one of his oldest friends for revoking twice in one evening's bridge.
Whatever he did, wherever he went, his thoughts insisted on wandering to Golfney Place. Although he longed to shower expensive gifts upon Bridget, he durst not at present go beyond flowers, and it was only after much persuasion that she consented to let him take her to the Haymarket Theatre. Whilst he revelled in her society and his hope of being permitted to enjoy it uninterruptedly for the remainder of his days ran high, he dreaded to imagine what Lawrence would have to say on the subject.
Colonel Faversham felt confident that his son would prove "nasty," and even Carrissima could scarcely be expected to feel pleased by the prospect of a step-mother only a few months older than herself. The colonel found himself between two fires: longing on the one hand for the time to come when he might discreetly ask Bridget to be his wife, and fearing, on the other hand, the announcement of his good news!
It is true that the rose was not entirely free from thorns. In his less cheerful moods he could not regard Mark Driver as other than a possibly disturbing factor. Bridget made no secret of the frequency and gratification of his former visits to Golfney Place, with the result that Colonel Faversham wondered occasionally whether she looked upon himself rather too paternally. He would then puff out his chest, tug his moustache and make various other efforts to convince her that he was still in the prime of life.
Nevertheless there hung persistently in the background the tragedy of his years! He might upon occasion strike one as a comic figure, and of course he saw no reason why he should not live to be a hundred. An exceptional age, no doubt, but then he was an exceptional man, as perhaps every man appears to himself. But Colonel Faversham was not already without warnings which he would not admit for the world. In his desire to convince himself that he was as robust as ever, he continued to take the same amount of exercise as he had enjoyed twenty years earlier. No one knew how weary the evenings found him, and, besides, there was that increasing stiffness of his joints.
He was particularly eager that Bridget should create a favourable impression on Lawrence, as indeed she could scarcely fail to do. Carrissima, notwithstanding a lamentable sense of inhospitality, when the evening arrived found it on the whole rather amusing. Her brother entered the drawing-room at Grandison Square with his head higher in the air than ever, while Phoebe looked as usual serenely pretty and contented. There was Bridget Rosser with her beautiful shoulders bare, with her piquant face, her glorious hair, obviously bent upon enjoyment.
Lawrence took her in to dinner, and Phoebe certainly thought that she had deliberately set herself to captivate him. So did the colonel, but Carrissima made a valiant effort to do her guest justice. It really seemed too paltry to be critical because Mark admired her. In Carrissima's opinion Bridget was not exerting herself to make a favourable impression either on Lawrence or his father. No such effort was necessary! Nature had anticipated any endeavours of her own. With her face and figure it must be positively difficult not to please any man with eyes in his head. Her curiously childlike ingenuousness was too perfect to be counterfeited. Bridget charmed because she must.
When she referred to the report of a recent lawsuit in which Lawrence had admittedly increased his already growing reputation, Carrissima smiled to see him unbend, although she might feel inclined to frown when she noticed that Colonel Faversham's eyes scarcely left Bridget's face until she rose from her chair to follow her hostess up-stairs.
In the drawing-room, while the men were smoking, she inquired after Phoebe's boy. She declared she was "so fond of children" in a tone which compelled credence. She wished to know the colour of Victor's eyes and hair; she listened to Phoebe's marvellous stories of his precocity without the slightest sign of scepticism or boredom.
"He is going to have a party of his own next week," said his mother.
"Beginning early," returned Bridget, as the door opened and Lawrence and the colonel came in.
"What's that, what's that?" demanded Colonel Faversham, crossing the room to Bridget's side.
"I was telling Miss Rosser," Phoebe explained, "that Victor is going to have a party. Eight children all under three."
"Good heavens!" said the colonel.
"I was wondering whether you would care to come and see them," suggested Phoebe, and she would have liked to invite the sympathetic Bridget, only that she felt certain Lawrence would disapprove.
"No, thank you, Phoebe, no, thank you," was the prompt reply. "Still, you needn't be afraid. I shall not forget his birthday. You'll see!"
"Oh, then it is Victor's birthday!" cried Bridget.
"On Tuesday," said Phoebe.
"How old will he be?"
"Two," returned his delighted mother, and Bridget leaned back in her chair with a profound sigh.
"Oh dear," she murmured, "and I shall actually be twenty-three onWednesday!"
"Now what are you going to do to celebrate the occasion?" demandedColonel Faversham.
"Let me see," said Bridget; "I shall breakfast alone, have lunch alone, tea alone and dinner in the same delightful company. How different it used to be when we lived at Crowborough! The day was a kind of festival. Before I was grown up we always had a primrose party."