While it proved difficult to refrain from liking the girl, with her frank joyousness, her youthful zest in life, the possession of such qualities furnished an additional excuse for that jealousy which still dominated Carrissima’s waking thoughts.  Without forming any definite design, the idea certainly occurred to her that Mark might come to occupy a smaller space in Bridget’s sphere of things, if only she knew a few more of his kind.

The following afternoon Carrissima, according to her promise, went to Upper Grosvenor Street, where lived Sybil Clynesworth and, when he pleased, Jimmy.  He had, however, a country house at Atlinghurst, and when he stayed in London sometimes preferred a room at one of his clubs, to that which his sister always kept in readiness.

On reaching the house Carrissima was disappointed to hear that Sybil had gone away the previous morning.

“When do you expect her back?” asked Carrissima.

“I have no idea,” said the butler; “but Mr. Clynesworth might know.”

“Mr. Clynesworth is in London then?” cried Carrissima, and in fact, he came out of the dining-room on the left of the hall the next moment.

The Favershams, the Drivers and the Clynesworths were old friends.  They had known each other from their earliest years, and the three boys had gone to the same preparatory school at Brighton.  Sybil, considerably the oldest of the group, tried still to hope that Jimmy would marry Carrissima, although for that matter, she would have rejoiced to see him the husband of any woman whom she could love.

Jimmy Clynesworth was about thirty years of age; a little younger than Lawrence Faversham, a little older than Mark Driver.  In height he was between them, a little above the average; not a tall man, certainly not short, well built, but not noticeably broad-shouldered, and wearing this afternoon a rough, darkish tweed suit, fitting him rather loosely.  In fact, you could not imagine Jimmy tightly buttoned up or putting on an uncomfortably high collar, or doing anything solely for the sake of appearances.

He had a somewhat round face, with straight dark hair and an almost downy-looking moustache, which barely hid his lips, although it was not brushed upwards in the mode of the moment.  His eyes were rather far apart and he was characterized by an appearance of perfect health and equability of temperament.

“Hullo, Carrissima!” he exclaimed, coming forward to the door with his hand outstretched, “what a stroke of luck!”

“I wanted to see Sybil,” she explained.

“She has gone to the Ramsbottoms,” said Jimmy.  “Old Lady Ramsbottom was taken ill.  She sent for Sybil yesterday, as people do when they’re seedy, you know.  Won’t you come in?” he added.

“No, thank you, Jimmy.  I mustn’t stay,” returned Carrissima.

“Now, that’s sheer conventionality,” he insisted.  “You would really like to come in and have a talk, but for the melancholy reason that I’m alone, you’re afraid.”