"Mr. Driver," announced Knight at half-past three that Monday afternoon.

Carrissima at once came to the conclusion that she had never seen him look so solemn—or quite so handsome, although she wished that he had stayed away.

"How are you, Mark?" she said, mustering a smile, however, as she held out her hand.

"I have come rather early," he answered, and Carrissima noticed that he barely touched her finger tips.

"Won't you sit down?" she suggested, returning to her own chair.

"So that I might make certain of finding you alone," continued Mark, still standing in the middle of the room.

"Well, your object is attained," she cried brightly. "Father is not at home, and I am not expecting any visitors."

"I thought the best plan," he said, "was to have it out without any waste of time."

"Oh dear!" murmured Carrissima. "Have what out?"

"I am going to speak quite plainly——"

"Why in the world shouldn't you?"

"I want to know," said Mark, "why you—of all people—told Sybil
Clynesworth—well, what you did tell her?"

"What did I?" asked Carrissima.

"It amounts to this. That I have been acting like a pretty miserable humbug and scoundrel combined."

"Mark!" faltered Carrissima, "I didn't. I couldn't have said anything of the sort."

"Then Sybil deliberately invented the story!"

"But what—what story?" said Carrissima.

"The charming little tale she repeated to Jimmy!"

"If only you could manage to be a little more explicit," urged
Carrissima, with a suggestion of annoyance in her tone.

"Oh, I shall speak out plainly enough," said Mark. "Sybil told Jimmy I had been carrying on a wretched intrigue with Bridget—neither more nor less. She gave you as her authority."

"She had no right," exclaimed Carrissima, and for an instant Mark's face cleared.

"Do you mean to say that you haven't mentioned my name to Sybil in such a connection?" he demanded, taking a step nearer.

"Yes, I mentioned your name," Carrissima admitted. "But I could never have said that—never! I feel almost certain I couldn't."

"Good heavens!" cried Mark, "you don't seem to know what you told her and what you didn't!"

Strange as it might appear to him, that was precisely the truth. She scarcely remembered what she had said in her excitement and disappointment, although she had little doubt it was something far too much to the point. His wrath was in some degree a relief to Carrissima, although she could not imagine what plausible excuse he could intend to offer. Because, after all, she could not disbelieve the evidence of her own senses.

"Mark," she said, "I don't think you are treating me in the least fairly."

"How is that?" he demanded.

"Oh well, you come here and take the offensive——"

"Then you believe I have nothing to do but defend myself?" said Mark.

"I can only suppose," she retorted, "that you fancy the best method is to try to carry the war into the enemy's country."

"My enemy—you! Good Lord!" exclaimed Mark.

"Of course," she continued, "there doesn't exist the slightest reason why you should take the trouble to excuse yourself to me. You have done me no wrong."

"By Jove! you have done me a cruel one," he said, with evident emotion.

"I am sorry I said a word to Sybil," answered Carrissima. "But she happened to be here when I got home from Golfney Place that afternoon. You know what I saw there——"

"I wish to goodness you hadn't gone near the house!" said Mark.

"No doubt you do!" she retorted. "It was no business of mine, only it seemed so utterly inconsistent with that you distinctly told me!"

"I told you precisely the truth," he insisted.

"Oh, what nonsense!" said Carrissima.

"How could it be! You told me that Bridget was—was nothing to you."

"She was nothing. She is nothing."

"If that is really the case," said Carrissima, "why, then your conduct appears inexplicable."

"Why didn't you tackle me?" he demanded. "Surely you have known me long enough!"

Carrissima realized that the circumstances were against her. She had, before to-day, come to the conclusion that those first excited suspicions were entirely unjustifiable; although Mark had no doubt deceived her, he could not be so bad as she had imagined at the time. She perceived that she might find one excuse which yet she durst not mention. If she could admit plainly that the sight of Bridget in his arms made her madly jealous and for the moment unaccountable for her words, then, perhaps, Mark might be mollified. At least this defence would be true. It seemed incongruous that she instead of him should be considered the offender; but above everything Carrissima must keep back the only explanation which was likely to sound plausible.

"It was nothing to me," she said.

"Anyhow, it was a great deal to me," replied Mark. "Of course I played the fool that afternoon. I don't want to make excuses. I admit there are none. But you ought to understand that Bridget was an innocent victim. No one was to blame but myself, and I not very severely. Yet because of one act of momentary folly you could tell Sybil that monstrous story."

"Well, I am sorry," said Carrissima. "I was carried away by excitement. I suppose it's a weakness of mine! I sometimes do tell people things and repent afterwards. I don't pretend to be immaculate."

"The fact is," returned Mark, "you've always been down on Bridget. The girl is absolutely straight! What beats me is that you could meet me as usual, as if nothing had come between us, take my hand and yet believe all the time I was that sort of outsider."

"And now," exclaimed Carrissima, "you ask me to believe that not having seen Bridget for weeks you went to her house and took her in your arms against her will! But there! what is the use of going over it all again? I feel immensely angry with Sybil. It is entirely her fault. She promised faithfully never to say a word."

"You beg the question in a rather womanly way," said Mark.

"Well, what would you have?" cried Carrissima, flinging out her arms. "I am a woman, you know. I dare say I am not always consistent, if that's what you mean."

"I thought it best to come and see you," answered Mark, with a shrug.

"Oh yes, by far the best," said Carrissima, with a shiver.

With that he went away, and Carrissima sought her room, locking herself in. She felt exceedingly angry with Sybil, and determined to write to her before the day ended. As to Mark, it was true she had done him an injustice, but his conduct appeared as difficult to explain as ever. Nothing which he had said made it any more comprehensible, and the only certainty seemed to be that a man could not conceivably love one woman and kiss another!