When Thursday evening arrived, Carrissima proved once more very exacting while she was being dressed for dinner.  Her hair had to be twice taken down again, and at the last minute she changed her mind about her gown.  Her maid had not found her so troublesome since that evening in March when she went to dine with Lawrence and Phoebe in Charteris Street, and on that disappointing occasion Carrissima expected to meet Mark Driver.

She could not feel quite so confident of his presence at Aberdeen Mansion this evening, and in any case such an encounter might not necessarily tend to mitigate the unfortunate coolness which had grown up between them.  Still it would be a satisfaction to sit in the same room with him; perhaps he would even take her in to dinner, and to-night might prove the beginning of better days.  Those through which Carrissima was living at present could scarcely be much worse!

Even Colonel Faversham remarked how well she was looking when she said “good-bye.”

“I hope you won’t feel very dull by yourself,” she suggested.

“Dull!” he retorted.  “Why in the world should I feel dull!  You speak as if I couldn’t tolerate my own society for a few hours.  Give me a decent cigar and the Field, and I ask for nothing more.  Besides, what do you imagine will become of me when you’re married?”

“Oh well,” said Carrissima, “there’s no need to anticipate anything of that kind just yet.”

“No,” was the answer.  “So it seems.  What has happened to Mark Driver?  He used to haunt the house, but now we never see him.  I tell you what, Carrissima.  A good many of you young women are just a little bit too exacting!”

“If I don’t go I shall be late for dinner,” exclaimed Carrissima hastily, and a few minutes later she was on the way to Aberdeen Mansion in a hired brougham.

Reaching the block of flats two minutes before the clock struck half-past seven, Carrissima went up to the second floor in the lift, pressed the bell button and was at once admitted by Jimmy’s man.  A tall parlour-maid met her in the hall, and took her to a bedroom, where Carrissima removed her cloak.

“Will you come this way?” said the parlour-maid, and led her to a miniature drawing-room which, to Carrissima’s astonishment, was empty.  “I am very sorry,” the girl continued, in response to an inquiring glance, “but Mr. and Mrs. Clynesworth have not come in yet.”

“Can I have made a mistake in the day?” said Carrissima.  “Are you certain Mrs. Clynesworth expected me this evening?”

“Yes,” was the answer, given with some hesitation.

“At what time?”

“Dinner is ordered for eight o’clock,” said the parlour-maid.

“Oh, then that accounts for it,” cried Carrissima.  “I understood it was to be half-past seven.”

“We always dine at eight,” returned the parlour-maid, as she stirred the fire.  “If you wouldn’t mind taking a chair,” she added, “Mr. and Mrs. Clynesworth will not be many minutes.”