“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.”