Miss Clynesworth was considerably the oldest member of the group (consisting of the Favershams, the Drivers and the Clynesworths) with which this episode in Bridget Rosser's life is concerned.

She was, in fact, more than forty years of age, and even in her adolescence she had never been beautiful. On the other hand, her face wore too amiable an expression to be considered very plain, and there was an almost captivating quaintness in the old-fashioned figure she presented. She seldom added to her wardrobe unless Jimmy bantered her into it and gave her a cheque which, as a matter of honour, was to be used for that especial purpose. Even then Sybil sometimes ventured to deceive him.

Short, although not quite so short as Carrissima, she had a thickset but flat figure, and a conscientious objection to make her drabbish-coloured hair appear more plentiful than it was.

Her skin was rather florid, her light blue eyes were prominent, her features being the only part of her with any approach to boldness. A kind of amateur ministering angel, she was often appealed to—and never in vain—by those in illness or affliction. Sybil Clynesworth was one of the women (not so rare as might be imagined in these days) into whose calculations the idea of marriage had seldom or never entered. Perhaps her powerful maternal instinct had been diffused from her youth up, and she regarded all who were in bodily or spiritual need as her children. It will be seen that she had a large family!

It seems probable that Sybil's charitable inclinations were inherited from her father and Jimmy's; since this half-brother of hers might be said to share them in a secret, shamefaced way. But with the difference that while the one took life with profound seriousness, the other appeared to look upon it as a huge jest.

Without Jimmy, however, Sybil's hands would have been tied. Whilst disagreeing entirely with his opinions, disapproving of many of his actions, she never scrupled to avail herself of his munificence, failing which her occupation would have gone. Above everything, Sybil desired to see Jimmy take his proper place in the country. He ought certainly to enter the House of Commons, and, in fact, to do a great many things which he persisted in leaving undone; above all, perhaps, he ought to marry Carrissima.

"I wish," said Sybil, the morning after her return from looking after
Lady Ramsbottom, "you would go to Grandison Square this afternoon,
Jimmy. I should be so very much obliged if you would ask dear
Carrissima to be kind enough to come and see me to-morrow."

"You obviously take me for a halfpenny postcard," he answered. "If I go it will be without prejudice. Don't imagine I'm blind to your little game! Sybil, I'm fed up with Carrissima. A thousand to one she will end by marrying old Mark."

"Jimmy," said Sybil reproachfully, "you know I never bet. You would give me the greatest pleasure in the world. I long to see you married to some really nice girl."

"Whether I care for her or not!" suggested Jimmy.

"Oh, how can you put such words into my mouth?" said Sybil. "As if I were capable of dreaming of such a thing. Some dear girl whom you love and respect——"

"That's the difficulty," he answered. "Here I am waiting and trying not to be impatient, but she doesn't come along. As soon as I see a dear girl and love and respect her, I'll marry her like a shot if she's willing. Probably she won't be because, you see, she would have to love and respect me."

Having nothing better to do and little dreaming of the fate in preparation for him, Jimmy set out in due course to Grandison Square, where, ten minutes earlier, Mrs. Reynolds had arrived: a tall, thin woman of about fifty years of age, who had been an intimate friend of the late Mrs. Faversham. She had a pleasant, if too grave face, and a certain dignity of bearing. On her entrance, she sat down close to Colonel Faversham's chair, holding him so closely in an uninteresting conversation that he could not pay the slightest attention to Bridget. She, left to her own devices, looked peculiarly charming this afternoon, in a new hat, which Carrissima knew must have cost quite five guineas.

Colonel Faversham's face wore a gloomy expression. He was annoyed because Bridget had not been introduced to Mrs. Reynolds, and in considerable pain from the increasing rheumatism in his knee joint. In the midst of his old friend's monologue, Knight announced—

"Mr. Clynesworth."

"Good-afternoon, Jimmy," cried Carrissima, rising promptly from her chair. "How nice and surprising of you to come!"

"I'll tell the truth if I perish," he answered. "The fact is I was sent. I'm a special messenger."

"Then Sybil is at home!"

"She turned up last night," he explained. "The world has naturally stood still during her absence, and she hasn't a moment to spare for the ordinary pleasures of life. Moral, will you look her up to-morrow?"

Jimmy then turned to Mrs. Reynolds, who was sitting with a deprecatory expression on her face, while Colonel Faversham, seeing an opportunity to cross the room to Bridget, gripped the arms of his chair preparatory to rising.

"Ah, Jimmy!" he said. "I'm glad to see you!"

"Yes, but please don't get up, colonel," returned Jimmy, looking sympathetically at his host's leg. "A little stiff at the joint? Rheumatism, I suppose?"

"Nothing of the sort," said Colonel Faversham, wincing, as he stood erect. "I never felt better in my life."

"In fact," suggested Carrissima, "father has a growing pain."

"I have not any pain in my body," cried the colonel, devoutly wishing he had not. "I will walk you twenty miles any day you like."

"Walking," said Jimmy, "is becoming a lost art. We all choose some other mode of locomotion when we can. If we don't fly, we motor, and before long it will be quite customary to skate on the pavement."

"Jimmy, your presence is demoralizing," answered Carrissima. "Mrs. Reynolds was discussing the influence of democracy on the fine arts, and now you have brought us down to frivolity."

"I don't think you know Miss Rosser," said Colonel Faversham, drawing nearer to the empty chair by Bridget's side. "Mr. Clynesworth—Miss Rosser."

The colonel would have given something to avoid this presentation, but since Jimmy had unfortunately come, he would not allow Bridget to be left out in the cold. As Jimmy bowed, he coolly took the chair which would have already been occupied, if caution and time had not been desirable this afternoon in Colonel Faversham's movements.

"I should have known you anywhere," said Bridget, without the least hesitation. "Your photograph," she explained, as Mrs. Reynolds changed her position to engage her host's attention, "has represented you during your absence. Carrissima was kind enough to fill in the colours."

"It's to be hoped she laid them on with a trowel," was the answer, "and gave me a better character than I deserve."

"Don't you deserve a good one?"

"Oh well, I am not going to give myself away," said Jimmy. "Anyhow,
I'm far from deserving this good fortune."

Her cheerful laugh brought Colonel Faversham's anxious eyes to her face, and he began to realize the disadvantages of a secret engagement.

"I think," she was remarking, "that I used to know Miss Clynesworth."

"A liberal education," said Jimmy, "and I hope you will soon improve it. Quite infuriating," he added.

"What is?" asked Bridget.

"The cussedness of destiny! Weeks have passed since Carrissima came to ask Sybil to look you up. If she had been in London she would have flown to your house; you might graciously have returned her visit; I should have seen you, and precious time would have been saved."

"It's never too late to mend," said Bridget. "I mean, of course, for your sister."

"You regard me as hopeless?"

"You appear to be full of confidence," she answered.

"I am," he said, "but naturally Sybil can't go to see you until she knows your address."

Hearing her tell him that she was lodging at Number 5, Golfney Place,
Colonel Faversham could endure it no longer. Interrupting Mrs.
Reynolds' discourse quite rudely, he limped across the room, whereupon
Jimmy at once rose to his feet.

"Sit down, colonel," he urged. "You will have to give old Mark a turn before you've done."

"I have not troubled a doctor for the last ten years," said Colonel
Faversham.

"Oh, Mark wouldn't mind the trouble," cried Jimmy, and then he began to say "good-bye."

Never until this afternoon had Colonel Faversham seen Bridget in a room with any one outside his own family. While on the one hand he rejoiced to observe the ease of her manner, it dawned upon him that she was not likely to be contented to shut herself off from all the world but himself. Departing from his custom, he went to Golfney Place after dinner that evening, and, flinging himself recklessly into a chair, began to rail against Mrs. Reynolds.

"I hate a woman with a long tongue!" he exclaimed. "Talk, talk, talk! She would argue with the Recording Angel! I positively saw nothing of you this afternoon. No time for a sensible word."

"Still, I have managed to survive, you see," said Bridget, "and Mr.
Clynesworth is lovely!"

"So is a python from one point of view!" was the answer.

"Oh, what a far-fetched comparison!" she said, and leaned back, laughing, in her chair.

"Not at all," cried Colonel Faversham. "You'll generally find there's something in what I say. You can't be too careful of a man like Jimmy Clynesworth. For my part, I very seldom know what he is talking about; I question whether he knows himself. I am a plain, straightforward man—but there! I didn't come to talk about Jimmy."

"I thought you did," said Bridget.

"No, no," he replied; "I want you to fix the day for our marriage. Upon my word, I don't feel quite certain that frankness isn't the best in the long run—far the best."

The effect of this expression of opinion surprised Colonel Faversham. He had never seen Bridget so greatly excited. She started to her feet, and flushed almost as deeply as Carrissima.

"If you mean," she exclaimed, "that you have changed your mind, I have not changed mine. After all your wonderful arguments! Please understand, you are not to breathe a word to anybody, and to talk of our marriage before we have been engaged a week is really too ridiculous for anything."

Although Colonel Faversham left Golfney Place in a condition of intense dissatisfaction however, his sensations might have proved even more unenviable if he could have heard what Jimmy Clynesworth said to Sybil the same afternoon.