Colonel Faversham, without being a bigoted Sabbatarian, liked to make a difference between Sunday and the other six days. He always expected a rather more elaborate dinner and never failed to go to sleep after luncheon. He allowed himself an extra cigar or two, and, in short, deprecated anything which threatened to disturb his peace.

During the last few days his mind, chiefly owing to lapse of time, had been easier concerning Bridget. Without being demonstratively affectionate, she appeared as cheerful as ever, so that he reached Number 5, Golfney Place at half-past three this afternoon with every hope of spending an agreeable hour or two in her presence.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, before he had been many minutes in the room, "wild flowers!"

"I think they must be," said Bridget, with a laugh.

"They look fresh!"

"They ought to be," she answered. "They were growing an hour or two ago."

"In the country?" suggested the colonel.

"Wouldn't it be lovely if one could pick primroses and marsh marigolds in London!" said Bridget.

"Bridget," cried Colonel Faversham, "I believe you take a delight in teasing me. I suppose the people of the house gave them to you!"

"How much I should like to have a motor-car," she said suddenly.

"Why not?" he demanded. "Why shouldn't you have a motor-car? I often wonder I've never gone in for one before now. Bridget, there are few things you shan't have when once you're my wife."

She leaned back in her chair, biting her nether lip, and every now and then glancing reflectively at the colonel, as if in hesitation.

"Such a delightful ride!" she cried a few minutes later.

"Eh—what—when?" he said.

"This morning, of course. Jimmy took me by surprise. He called for me shortly after eleven. I couldn't resist going. We went through some of the loveliest Surrey villages."

"What about lunch?" asked Colonel Faversham, with difficulty bottling up his wrath.

"Oh, we stopped at the sweetest little inn that seemed to be miles away from everywhere and everybody. Of course, we hadn't much time to spare."

That was one consolation, and Bridget's candour was another; nevertheless. Colonel Faversham found his Sunday afternoon quite spoilt, and finally left Golfney Place in a humour to make things a little uncomfortable for any one who crossed his path. He was beginning to notice that Mark Driver came to Grandison Square somewhat often, and seeing Carrissima wearing her hat and jacket a few afternoons later the colonel asked where she was going.

"I am expecting Phoebe," she answered. "Mark has taken some rooms in
Weymouth Street and we are invited to inspect them to-day."

Colonel Faversham chuckled as she left the house. Nothing could suit his purpose better! She would never, he felt certain, be content to stay at home under the new Mrs. Faversham's regime, and her own marriage would prove an admirable solution of the difficulty.

Mark Driver was just now in his element. His friend, Doctor Harefield, had broken down in health, his only hope being to relinquish an incipient practice and spend a considerable time in a more favourable climate. Mark had taken over Harefield's three rooms: a dining-room on the ground floor, intended to serve also as a patients' waiting-room; a small consulting-room in its rear, and a bedroom at the top of the house. The furniture, such as it was, had been bought at a valuation, not that Mark had intended to make such an outlay at the moment, but it was understood that the goodwill of Harefield's practice was to be thrown in. It was, in fact, far too small to be sold separately, although it might form the nucleus of the much larger one which his successor fully intended to build up.

Mark, having provided an elaborate tea and a profusion of flowers, looked forward with considerable zest to Carrissima's visit with Phoebe as her chaperon, and yet as he stood at the window awaiting her arrival he wondered whether he had not perhaps been a little too precipitate over his recent investment.

His outlook had been steadily changing since the day after his return from Paris. Although it appeared as if love had come upon him suddenly, he knew it had done nothing of the kind. While it seemed to have blossomed in a day, he understood that it had been developing for many months, perhaps, even for many years.

He could not feel absolutely confident. Carrissima had builded better than she knew. So cleverly had she dissembled her emotions that there were times when Mark feared lest he should take her completely by surprise; but in any case the declaration must not much longer be postponed. If his desires were gratified, it appeared obvious that these three rooms would prove inadequate, while, incongruously enough, it was the fact that he had made some kind of beginning by taking them, which justified his increasingly impatient aspirations.

Carrissima, arriving with Phoebe at half-past four, was prepared to admire everything. She was taken first to the small consulting-room, and shown various kinds of apparatus for the administration of ether, chloroform and gas, then to the waiting-room, where Phoebe poured out tea. Mrs. Lawrence Faversham, for her part, was more critical. She insisted that Mark had paid more than the furniture was worth. Much of it was fit only for the dusthole! The curtains, for instance, were falling to pieces, and in any case he positively was bound to invest in a new carpet.

"Look at the darns!" she cried. "It must have served for generation after generation of physicians. It is enough to put any patient off! Whatever you do without, you really must have a new carpet."

"Don't you think I could rub along with the old one for the present?" asked Mark, turning to Carrissima, who, however, felt she must agree with her sister-in-law.

"Such a fuss about seven or eight guineas," said Phoebe. "If you won't buy one I shall have to make you a present."

"Well, then," exclaimed Mark suddenly, "suppose you and Carrissima help me choose it. I am a perfect idiot at that sort of thing. Where shall we go?"

"You would never ask such a question," said Carrissima, looking wonderfully happy as she sat holding her cup and saucer, "if you had any real feeling for the Art of Shopping. We will go everywhere. The first thing is to land yourself in the neighbourhood—then you plunge. The idea of making up your mind where to buy a thing before you start. That's not the way. Do it thoroughly and see all that is to be seen."

"When shall we go," asked Mark, "since I mustn't ask where?"

"Any afternoon you like to name next week!"

"It is evidently going to be a long job," said Mark. "Suppose we say Monday afternoon. I will call for Phoebe at three in a taxi, then we will make for Grandison Square."

Carrissima left Weymouth Street in the highest spirits, and at last began to wonder whether her long patience was by way of being rewarded. When Monday arrived she actually put on her hat—her most becoming hat—before the appointed time, and as she sat waiting for Mark and Phoebe Colonel Faversham looked into the dining-room.

"Oh, ah, Carrissima!" he said; "it occurs to me that you haven't seen
much of Bridget lately. I should like you to go to Golfney Place.
You've nothing in the world to do. You look idle enough sitting there!
Suppose you go this afternoon!"

"I am expecting Mark," answered Carrissima.

"Mark again!"

"And Phoebe," said Carrissima.

"Off on the spree—the three of you?"

"Mark," Carrissima explained, "asked us to help him choose a—a carpet——"

"Devilish thoughtful of him," said the colonel in his most amiable and significant tone.

"For his patients' waiting-room!"

"Well, if you get one to match your cheeks," was the answer, "it will be a nice cheerful colour for them. It strikes me you're seeing a good deal of the fellow."

"I always have done," said Carrissima, devoutly wishing he would arrive to release her.

"Be candid now!" cried the colonel. "Be honest. I like honesty.
Anyhow, you can't deceive me. Carrissima, I'll tell you one thing.
There's nothing on this earth would give me greater gratification,
nothing!"

She durst not even yet allow her hopes to run away with her, and while she was wondering whether there would be time to go upstairs and powder her face or whether, after all, the remedy might not be worse than the disease, she heard the street door bell ring.

"I will go to Golfney Place to-morrow, if you like," she said, with a momentary sense of something resembling sympathy for her father. Because, if what she was constantly hearing from Sybil were true, it seemed extremely probable that Colonel Faversham was doomed to disappointment. According to Sybil, Jimmy went to see Bridget day after day, and granting that she was determined upon escape from her pecuniary troubles by a marriage of some kind, surely she would choose Jimmy in preference to the colonel, if only for the fact that he was much more wealthy. So that Colonel Faversham were spared Carrissima did not feel disposed to judge Bridget too severely; disapproving of her manoeuvres, indeed, but having enough to do in the management of her own affairs.

"Well, well, go to-morrow," said her father. "I'll answer for it she will be pleased to see you. Take her a few flowers! Ah!" Colonel Faversham added, as the door opened, "here's Mark!"

"Where is Phoebe?" asked Carrissima, as she offered her hand.

"An awful bore," answered Mark. "Victor has a bit of a cold; anyhow I couldn't persuade his devoted mother to desert him this afternoon."

"I suppose," said Carrissima, hoping that she was not betraying her disappointment, "we must wait for another day."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Colonel Faversham. "Why shouldn't you keep to your arrangement? What is to hinder it, I should like to know."

"Do you mind, Carrissima?" asked Mark, gazing eagerly into her face.

"Not at all," she said, and a few minutes later Colonel Faversham stood on the doorstep, looking after them with obvious approval, as they were driven away from the house in a taxi-cab.