Mark Driver, on returning from the carpet-purchasing expedition, spent the evening alone in his Weymouth Street rooms. He had not the least intention to go near Golfney Place the following day, and every word he had spoken during the walk home with Carrissima was precisely true.

He believed he could never live happily without her! As he sat smoking his pipe that night, he smiled to remember Carrissima at the numerous warehouses she had visited, and his thoughts wandered back over the many years of their friendship.

Fortunate is the man who may count upon one sympathetic listener, too deeply interested in his most ordinary experiences for boredom; prepared to take his side (with or without justification) against the world. So it had always been with Carrissima. Of any scheme, any opinion, any ambition of his, she invariably tended to think the best. If ever he accomplished anything more meritorious than usual, she was always the first to be told; and when he happened to make a mistake, she would be certain to make light of it.

At nine o'clock on Tuesday morning Mark had an appointment round the corner in Beaumont Street. Mr. Randolph Messeter had a serious operation to perform at a nursing home, and Mark was to administer the anaesthetic. All had gone well; he had returned to Weymouth Street, and was in the act of putting away his apparatus, when the telephone bell rang.

He was wanted immediately by Lady Scones, in Burnham Crescent, S.W. Sir Wilford Scones had been one of Doctor Harefield's most lucrative patients, and naturally Mark felt gratified by the summons. A rapid examination showed that the patient was seriously ill, and having telephoned for a trained nurse and written a prescription, Mark left the house, with a promise to come again during the afternoon.

On his way home after this second visit at about four o'clock, he walked past the end of Golfney Place, and, a few yards farther on, saw a motor-car in which was seated Bridget. As he lifted his hat, she called to the chauffeur to stop, and seeing she was bent on getting out, Mark could scarcely do less than open the door.

"What a stranger!" she cried, holding out her hand. "Weeks and weeks since you came to see me! Anyhow, you must come now."

"Sorry," said Mark, "but, upon my word, I haven't much time to spare——"

"You won't want much," she insisted. "It's no use, Mark! You've got to be nice and reasonable, and you must just come in."

Taking out her purse, she paid the chauffeur—in gold, as Mark could not help seeing, and, judging by the expression of the man's face, adding an unusually liberal tip. Without any more excuses, Mark accompanied her along the secluded street, and, on reaching Number 5, Bridget admitted him with her latch-key.

"Where do you think I have been?" she asked, throwing off her cloak as soon as she entered the sitting-room.

"I don't see how I can guess without something more to guide me," said Mark, as she went to the looking-glass, drew some monstrous-headed pins from her hat, and began to arrange her hair, patting it here, pulling it there, while Mark admired its quantity and colour.

"Oh, how the wind has made my cheeks burn," she cried, pressing her palms against them. "You know how one pines for woods and pastures at this time of year!" she continued. "A kind of nostalgia! Directly after breakfast I sent Miller for a motor-car from the garage in the next street, and I went to Crowborough."

"Alone?" asked Mark.

"Didn't you see I was alone? That was the idea, you know. I hadn't been inside the dear old house since father and I left it four years ago. There was a board up. It was to be let again, so I rang the bell and went all over it—round the garden, then to the churchyard. I suppose you scarcely remember my mother, Mark?"

"Very indistinctly," he answered, seeing that she was in a somewhat emotional mood.

But, to tell the truth, he was inclined to distrust appearances. During his previous visit to Golfney Place, she had betrayed a certain amount of feeling, with the deliberate object, he felt convinced, of awakening his sympathy. On that occasion Bridget had told him about her pecuniary difficulties, in order to induce him to anticipate Colonel Faversham. At present he was wondering whether or not she had a similar end in view.

"My mother," she said, drawing nearer, "was the best and sweetest woman in the world. You are a clever man. Tell me how she came to have such a daughter."

Surely the late Mrs. Rosser could scarcely have had a more seductive child! At the moment, she stood almost touching Mark, her chin raised, gazing up into his eyes. The sunlight fell upon her hair, and he wished he could refrain from noticing her dimple.

"What is the matter with her?" he asked.

"Don't pretend you are so dense," said Bridget, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I gave myself away the last time you were here, and of course that's the reason you have never been near me since!"

She was almost resting against him, either carried away by her emotion or deliberately trying to lead him on. Mark felt very little doubt as to her purpose; he was convinced that she was bringing all her batteries to bear upon him, and it is a painful task to chronicle a good man's fall!

On the deplorable impulse of the moment, he put an arm around Bridget and kissed her lips. Then two alarming things happened. As the door opened and Miller announced "Miss Faversham," Mark saw from the shocked, indignant expression on Bridget's face, that on the present occasion, at least, he had misinterpreted her intention.

There seemed to be something ironic in the circumstances. Never had Mark felt more enthusiastic in his devotion to Carrissima than he had done when he entered Number 5, Golfney Place, this afternoon. Hitherto when Bridget had in truth been tempting him, he had succeeded in standing firm; but to-day, when she had been making a sincere appeal for his help and sympathy, he had lost his self-control.

But for the fact that Bridget was unwilling, he might not have taken a very serious view of his own behaviour, especially as it seemed obvious that Carrissima had appeared on the scene a moment too late to witness it. Even if she had not dropped her roses on the landing, her demeanour must have sufficed to lull him into a false sense of security. Nevertheless, he felt extremely uncomfortable until he left the room; and indeed he perceived that even his presence at the house might, after yesterday's protestations, require some explanation. Hence his suggestion to go to Grandison Square after dinner the same evening.

He wished devoutly that he had not made a fool of himself, without considering that he had been guilty of anything worse than an act of folly. It was not as if he were actually engaged to Carrissima, although he was now in a mood to regret that he had ever bestowed a thought on any other woman since his birth.

Mark had arranged to see Sir Wilford Scones again before night, and his intention was to make his way from Burnham Crescent to Grandison Square; but the question now arose whether he ought not to call upon Bridget and make some sort of amende for the incident of the afternoon.

"Oh, Mark!" she exclaimed, the moment he entered her presence, and before he found time to speak; "how could you do it! You, of all men! You always seemed just the one to be trusted. What can there be about me that you should imagine I was that—that sort of woman?"

"What was there about me, rather?" said Mark, looking rather shamefaced. "Bridget, I can only tell you I am immensely sorry."

"Suppose," she cried, "that Carrissima had seen you! Suppose she had not dropped her flowers! What would be the use of saying you were sorry then? She has always been horridly jealous——"

"Carrissima jealous!"

"From the first time she came here! I suppose it began that evening you took me to Belloni's and kept her waiting for dinner. She would never have forgiven you. Mark, you have had a very, very narrow escape, and I am not certain you deserve to get off so easily. Because, don't you see, your treatment of me was the worse on account of your love for her."

He stood with a dejected expression on his face, and nothing more was said, for a few moments; then Bridget lightly rested a hand on his sleeve.

"Ah, well," she said, "I don't want to pile up the agony. Besides," she added, with an obvious effort, "I must be honest. I—I know I have given you reason to think meanly of me—vilely! But, don't you see, Mark, I—I have done with all that. I was never so anxious to make the best of myself. Not that it can conceivably matter."

Mark left the house in a chastened mood, wondering as he walked towards Burnham Crescent whether it were possible that she had fallen sincerely in love with Jimmy Clynesworth.

Was it likely that, after all her alarums and excursions, she had found a resting-place at last; that Carrissima was right when she insisted that Jimmy had ousted Colonel Faversham, but wrong when she imagined that Bridget's inducement was his larger income?

"I'm sorry to be so late," said Mark, when at last he entered
Carrissima's presence that evening.

"Oh, it isn't too late," she answered. "My father is out, and I am thankful for any one to relieve the monotony of things."

"The fact is," Mark explained, "I have a serious case near here. I was kept rather longer than I anticipated. My third visit to-day!"

"You must be making a rapid fortune," she cried gaily.

"Anyhow, it's a beginning," he said, adding, after a momentary pause, "I thought you might be surprised to see me at Golfney Place this afternoon."

"No, I don't know that I was," returned Carrissima. "Just a wee bit, perhaps; but then, you know, one ought never to feel astonished to meet a doctor anywhere."

"Oh well, Bridget's not a patient," said Mark, with a smile. "I was on my way home from Sir Wilford's, when I saw her in a motor-car just by the corner of Golfney Place. She insisted that I should go in with her, and because of her importunity I consented."

"Has the carpet arrived yet?" asked Carrissima.

"It was laid while I was out this afternoon," was the answer.

"Well, I hope you approve of my taste."

"It looks first-rate," said Mark. "The room is transformed. I have some idea of putting up my fees on the strength of it. I should like you to come and have a look," he added.

"Why, of course," returned Carrissima. "I must ask Phoebe to bring me one afternoon, and you shall give us some more of those delicious cakes."

Mark Driver was certainly living in a fool's paradise that evening. He did not imagine for an instant that he should ever hear of the escapade again. The incident was ended. Carrissima remained in blissful ignorance, and he had made his peace with Bridget.

Bliss, however, was far from Carrissima that night. For one thing, she blamed herself severely for having opened her heart to Sybil Clynesworth. Although it seemed obvious that Mark had been playing an equivocal game, there could, Carrissima felt certain on reflection, be no justification for the innuendoes which she had allowed herself to make. The truth was that even now she scarcely knew what she had said in her wrath. She remembered that odious ideas had flashed unbidden across her mind—ideas which now appeared as unworthy of herself as of Mark.

Still, after making every allowance, her disillusioning remained complete. How could a man feel an interest in the precise colour of her own eyes one day and kiss the lips of another woman the next? She knew that her wish had been father to the thought, and she felt exceedingly bitter against Miss Bridget Rosser, who appeared still to have three men dangling at her heels.

One of these was becoming impatient. Colonel Faversham had reached the end of his tether. He realized that his authority over Bridget would not bear a great strain, and accordingly on Wednesday morning he made his way to Donaldson's, where he purchased a handsome and expensive jewelled waist-belt, such as she had admired on an actress when he took her to the play a few evenings ago. Armed with this peace-offering, Colonel Faversham reached Golfney Place at eleven o'clock on the morning after Mark Driver's unfortunate visit.