"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 Haymarket
Theatre 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 on
Wednesday!"

"Now what are you going to do to celebrate the occasion?" demanded
Colonel 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."

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," suggested
Carrissima, 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 to
Grandison 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.