Colonel Faversham set out one morning in November after prolonged hesitation. A year ago he would not have thought twice, but of late he had grown much more careful of himself. The day was misty and the air struck raw and cold. He made no protest when Carrissima suggested that he should wear a scarf, although after she had wound it around his neck he, somewhat irritably, rearranged it in order to expose his necktie.

"Bless me!" he exclaimed, with something of his former energy, "you seem to want to make me look like an infernal invalid. Thank goodness I haven't got to that yet by a long shot. Molly-coddling a man in this way!"

"I don't see much use in wearing a scarf if you tuck it down beneath your coat," said Carrissima.

"Who wants to wear one?" he demanded, pulling it off and flinging it on to the hall table. "I won't wear it. I won't be bothered and interfered with!"

He selected a walking-stick from the stand, but when Carrissima opened the door for him, returned to exchange it for an umbrella; at last, setting forth at a quarter to twelve, walking rather slowly in the direction of his club. As he made his way along Piccadilly Colonel Faversham came almost to a standstill. Good heavens! that must be Bridget coming towards him. He fixed his eye-glass and saw that he had not make a mistake; in fact, it was difficult to be mistaken. She was as becomingly dressed as ever, and carried an enormous muff, with a great many of some small animals' tails depending from it.

Colonel Faversham's thoughts at once flew back to that last time he had seen her in Golfney Place, when he had insisted that she should name the date for their marriage—a week or two hence, as he had egregiously hoped! And she had seemed to promise that she would gratify him when he came the following morning, and he arrived with exuberant anticipations only to find the bird flown! Everything stood out clearly in his mind, and now that she was within a few yards he wished he had not passed Half Moon Street, so that he might have slipped down the turning in order to avoid a meeting.

Had he done so in all probability Bridget would have pursued him! Quickening her pace she bore down upon the colonel with her right hand outstretched, while with the left she held the enormous muff. He had no alternative; it seemed inevitable that he should meet her half-way. Although he had always admired her, she had never appeared quite so enticing as this dull November morning; looking into his face with merry eyes, while yet the corners of her mouth were drawn down as if to express the penitence, which he knew that no one in the world could have been farther from feeling.

"Oh, Colonel Faversham, how delighted I am to see you again!" she cried, and the provoking part of it was that he could not avoid a sensation of pleasure on seeing her at closer quarters. He did not imagine for an instant that she wished to see him, although for the time her manner might carry conviction. "I have positively been longing to meet you," said Bridget.

"It is very kind to say so," muttered Colonel Faversham.

"And," she continued, with her eyes on his face, "how splendidly well you are looking!"

"Ah, you think I am?" he answered. "Well, thank Heaven, I feel pretty well. How long have you been in London?" he asked rather hastily, because no one could feel more anxious to omit any allusion to the painful past.

"Only a couple of days," said Bridget. "We had the loveliest time abroad, and the best of it was that I really knew my way about far better than Jimmy."

Well, Colonel Faversham, for his part, did not doubt that she knew her way about better than most people.

"Now, tell the truth!" she exclaimed, as they stood in the middle of the pavement, "don't you think you ought to feel immensely grateful to me?"

"Bless my soul, I had not thought of that!" he answered, with a laugh.

"Well, you can recognize the fact now it's pointed out to you. Admit you had a happy release, as they sometimes say in different circumstances."

"Now I have seen you again," said Colonel Faversham gallantly, "it becomes much more difficult than ever to believe anything of the sort."

"I hope," replied Bridget, "you mean to come and see me often. Jimmy will be delighted. We have taken the duckiest little furnished flat while we look about for a house of our own."

"You are not going to settle down in Upper Grosvenor Street?" suggested the colonel.

"Oh dear, no! We should never dream of disturbing Sybil, nor of living with her. You don't know what a good fellow Jimmy is! Now he has a wife to keep him up to the mark he will do the most wonderful and unexpected things. You will see! He is going to stand for Atlinghurst, and I assure you I intend to get him in. Don't you think I shall make an excellent canvasser? Now, please, understand," she added, "I expect you to come and see me!"

"Where is the flat?" he inquired.

"Aberdeen Mansion," she answered. "Jimmy took it while we were abroad——"

"Without seeing it? Good gracious!" said Colonel Faversham. That was just like Jimmy—and Bridget.

"Oh dear, yes," she said. "We left it to an agent, and, really, nothing could have turned out better. It is only a few yards from Hyde Park Corner. Will you come and have lunch this morning? I know Jimmy will be at home—not that it matters if he isn't."

"Some other time, if you will allow me," said Colonel Faversham, offering his right hand.

"I wish," cried Bridget, as she stood holding it, "you would promise me one thing!"

"Upon my word," he replied, "it's difficult to refuse to promise you anything."

"Well, then, please make Carrissima pay me a visit at once—at once, you understand?"

As Colonel Faversham walked on to his club, hastening because he had grown cold standing still so long, he doubted whether or not he should mention Mrs. Jimmy's name at Grandison Square. He never ceased to congratulate himself, inasmuch as the fact of his abortive engagement had been kept secret. Even if Carrissima suspected anything of the kind, she could not possibly know for certain! Colonel Faversham realized, however, that his relationship to Bridget in former days might still be raked up as food for scoffers, and he shrank from anything of the nature of ridicule. Mrs. Jimmy, indeed, was a delicate topic, and he would probably have kept his own counsel concerning the meeting in Piccadilly, if he had not feared lest she should subsequently come into contact with Carrissima, when his silence might defeat his own end.

"Whom do you think I saw this morning?" he asked, after dinner that evening.

"Not—not Bridget?" she exclaimed.

"Yes—Mrs. Jimmy! They have been in London only a couple of days."

"Then you spoke to her?"

"Good gracious!" answered the colonel, "why on earth shouldn't I speak to her. As a matter of fact there was no getting out of it. She insisted on speaking to me. She is living in a furnished flat—Aberdeen Mansion, close to Hyde Park Corner, you know, and she made me promise that you should pay her a visit as soon as possible. I don't know whether you will care to go."

"Oh yes," said Carrissima, "I am bound to call sooner or later."

"Well, well, you know best," was the answer. "She thought I was looking uncommonly well—at least she said so. Goodness knows whether she meant it. Anyhow, I feel pretty fit!"

Although anything resembling an intimacy with Bridget might be out of the question, it seemed absolutely necessary to pay Jimmy's wife an ordinary, complimentary visit. Deep down in Carrissima's mind, perhaps, was an idea that Bridget might prove capable of an intervention as auspicious as her previous alarums and excursions had been unfortunate.

If this were the case, Carrissima scarcely admitted the impeachment even to herself; but two afternoons after the meeting with Colonel Faversham near Half Moon Street his daughter set out to Aberdeen Mansion, where she found Mrs. Clynesworth at home, and at once came to the conclusion that until the present, at least, she believed everything had turned out for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

She at once broke through Carrissima's reserve. Paying no attention to her proffered hand, she leaned forward and demonstratively kissed her first on the right cheek, then on the left.

"So glad you have come," she cried effusively. "And how extremely fortunate that Jimmy is out."

"Is he all right?" asked Carrissima.

"Oh yes, quite all right," was the answer. "You will say he looks splendid, though I don't take any credit to myself for that, because he always did. I thought so the very first time I saw his photograph at your house. I haven't the remotest notion where he has gone and I never inquire. That's my theory of matrimony. Perhaps you are surprised to hear I have a theory of any kind; but no," said Bridget, "of course you're more likely to go to the opposite extreme. You can't help regarding me as a horrid sort of schemer!"

"All's well that ends well," returned Carrissima, with a smile.

"Ah! but, you see, it isn't the end!" said Bridget. "It's only the beginning. We're not living in one of those novels where marriage is the end of all things. But Jimmy and I always go our separate ways and the consequence is when we meet we're generally quite glad to see each other. Such an immense mistake to imagine that any two people can tell one another everything."

"Is it?" murmured Carrissima, who clung to a vastly different ideal.

"What bores we should become!" said Bridget. "And, you know, whatever you do to a man you must never bore him—poor fellow! But, please, don't encourage me to talk about myself—not that I really need much encouragement. I feel so perfectly delighted with everything!—how is Mark?" she added, abruptly changing her tone.

"He looked very well the last time I saw him," replied Carrissima, at once on guard.

"When was that?"

"A few days ago!"

"You don't appear to have any interesting announcement to make," suggested Bridget, with expressive eyes on Carrissima's face. Now, Carrissima hesitated. She could easily have answered in such a way that her hostess, with all her audacity, would have been silenced.

"I haven't spoken to Mark," she faltered, "since your marriage."

"How disappointing!" cried Bridget. "So, after all my efforts you didn't follow the advice I gave you."

"No," said Carrissima.

"Why not?"

"Oh well, I couldn't," said Carrissima, and Bridget shrugged her shoulders as if to put the topic aside.

"Did the colonel tell you," she inquired, "that Jimmy is going to stand for Atlinghurst? Between us we are going to accomplish the most wonderful things. He always insists that his mind is too independent for the House of Commons, but I tell him a man must expect to sacrifice some of his independence when he marries."

"In spite of all your theories!" suggested Carrissima.

"Of course," Bridget continued, "I quite understand that most people
believe Jimmy sacrificed a great deal more than that! Your brother
Lawrence, for instance! Oh dear, I can imagine exactly what he says!
Carrissima, there's one thing which makes me angry!"

"Only one?" said Carrissima.

"The want of discrimination in the human mind. I dare say that even yours is tainted! It's of no use to pretend you can't understand. In a moment of self-denying effusiveness I admitted that I deliberately angled for a husband: first for Mark Driver, then for Colonel Faversham. Well, although one would have none of me and I didn't want the other, the fact remains that I am the wife of the richest of the trio! Everybody who knows Jimmy naturally thinks that was all I thought about—his money, his position and so forth. Well, there's only one consolation," said Bridget.

"What is that?" demanded Carrissima.

"Jimmy knows better. I can't tell you how, but there's the glorious fact that he does. All the evidence was against me! I suppose Jimmy is a kind of seer—oh, of course you can't help smiling at that! But, then, neither you nor any one else has the slightest idea what there is in Jimmy. Carrissima, my husband is a clever man who has the misfortune—if it is really a misfortune—to see both sides of every question too distinctly! Being a poor partisan, he appears to lack enthusiasm. But, then, I have a boundless store!"

"I begin to think," said Carrissima, "that none of us imagined all there was in you!"

"Oh, as for me," returned Bridget, "I was simply a little wretch during the few months you saw anything of me. I honestly believe that was a kind of interregnum. If you had met me while my father was alive you would have taken me for a quite different woman. All that is over and done with and for the rest—well, you will see!"

When Carrissima rose to go away Bridget clung to her hand—

"Jimmy will be immensely disappointed," she exclaimed. "I wish you would do something to console him by dining with us one evening. Our space here isn't sufficient for large parties."

"I should be very pleased," said Carrissima.

"Let me see," returned Bridget, knitting her brows, "we were reckless enough to promise to go to Sandbay from Friday till Monday—my dear little Dresden china aunts, you remember! It is really very amusing! Jimmy paid them a visit just after I left Golfney Place and they have taken quite a fancy to him. The odd part of it is, that he seems to like them in return. Goodness knows how he will endure three days in a house where tobacco has always been tabooed. Would next Friday suit you?"

"Quite nicely," said Carrissima.

"Oh, but Friday is an unlucky day, isn't it?" cried Bridget. "I don't know whether you are superstitious, although I believe everyone is about something. Suppose we say Thursday, and if I can't get together the people I should like to meet you I must write and fix another evening. If you don't hear to the contrary I shall expect you on Thursday—at eight o'clock. Or," Bridget added, "perhaps half-past seven will be more convenient. Yes, please let it be half-past seven."

Carrissima walked back to Grandison Square thinking of the change which had occurred in Bridget, who yet remained in many ways the same as she had ever been and most likely always would be. But she had no longer anything to disguise, anything to scheme for. Her manner was characterized by a new and delightful air of authority, and, indeed, Carrissima, if anybody, had become the plotter now! As far as Mrs. Jimmy was concerned the slate had been cleaned. No, in spite of anything that Lawrence might say, in spite of all that Bridget had done, Carrissima could not believe that Jimmy Clynesworth was to be very deeply pitied.