“Oh, wise young judge!” said Carrissima.

“Well, if you’re obstinate I’ll walk back with you,” he suggested, taking a bowler hat from the stand, while the butler handed his gloves and cane.  “I’ve nothing in the world to do,” he added, as they walked away from the house.

“You never have, Jimmy!”

“No, I’m the most dreadful waster,” he admitted.  “I’ve just been reading a penny pamphlet—­by one of the labour members, and upon my word, it made me squirm like one o’clock.  Did you want to see Sybil about anything of cosmic importance?” Jimmy asked.

“Oh dear, no,” said Carrissima, as they crossed the park.  “Only to ask her to call on a girl she met when we were staying at Crowborough some years ago.”

“What’s she like—­pretty, by any chance?”

“Very pretty,” answered Carrissima.

“Then I’m your man.  I can go instead if you give me the address, and there’s no time like the present.”

“Jimmy, you must try not to be ridiculous,” said Carrissima.  “For some reason you can’t have seen her during the few days you stayed with us.”

“What is her name?”

“Bridget Rosser.  Her father was a novelist——­”

“Oh!” cried Jimmy, “you mean David Rosser.  I remember that the colonel introduced me; besides, I happened to run up against him again a few months later.  A man who never got his due.  David Rosser had a style, you know:  a little precious, perhaps, if that’s a drawback.  So you know his daughter!  I will see that Sybil goes to see Miss Rosser.  Then,” said Jimmy, “I shall have a look in.”

CHAPTER V

COLONEL FAVERSHAM

Colonel Faversham came home on Wednesday evening, the day after Carrissima’s visit to Upper Grosvenor Street.  She was sitting alone in the drawing-room, doubtful as to the precise date of his return, when she suddenly became aware of his presence in the house.

Colonel Faversham was apt to be noisy and blusterous.  He had a loud voice, a rather demonstrative cough, he walked with a heavy tread, and, in fact, was generally assertive.  Carrissima, not wishing to fail in her filial duty, went down-stairs to meet him in the hall, as the butler was helping him off with his thick overcoat.

“Ah, Carrissima!” he exclaimed at the top of his voice, “I’m sorry I didn’t wire; but, to tell you the truth, I forgot all about it.  Well, how are you—­quite well?  Glad to see me back again, eh?”

“Very glad indeed,” was the dutiful answer.

“That’s all right.  I’ve had dinner—­if you can call it dining in the train.  Where’s the best fire to be found?”

“You may as well come to the drawing-room,” said Carrissima.

“Good!” replied the colonel, and then turned to the butler.  “Knight, I’ll have some soda and whisky.”

He accompanied Carrissima up-stairs, blowing out his red cheeks and beating his cold hands together with considerable energy.  Going to the fire, he stood on the hearthrug warming his palms and making perfunctory inquiries after Lawrence and Phoebe and their child.