“I’m going to see Phoebe,” she explained, in the act of fastening her gloves.  “I don’t suppose I shall be home to tea unless you want me.”

“Want you!” was the answer.  “Good heavens, no!  Why in the world should I want you.  Do you imagine I can’t feed myself?  Thank goodness, I’m not in my second childhood yet.  Besides, I shall most likely have tea at the club.  What a day, Carrissima!  What a day!”

Having finished his cigar about a quarter of an hour later, Colonel Faversham went to his dressing-room, where he spent a few minutes brushing his hair with great vigour and twisting his moustache to a point.  On going down to the hall again, he noticed that the street door stood open, and that Knight was talking to some one on the threshold.  As the colonel took his top hat from the table, he saw that the visitor was a young lady who looked admirably in harmony with the spring season.  She wore a lightish grey cloth frock and a wide-brimmed hat, beneath which a vast quantity of chestnut-coloured hair conspicuously appeared.

He reached the open door as she was on the point of turning away, but, seeing him, she hesitated.

“Miss Rosser, colonel,” said Knight, standing between the pair.

“Good-afternoon, Miss Rosser,” cried Colonel Faversham.  “Pray come in!  You wish to see Carrissima!  I assure you she will be immensely disappointed if you refuse to wait.  I may mention that I had the pleasure of knowing your father.”

“Oh, I remember you perfectly,” she replied.  “As well as if it were yesterday.”

“Come this way, come this way,” he insisted, replacing his hat on the table as she entered the hall.  “Carrissima would never forgive me.  She was talking about you before I had been in the house ten minutes——­”

“But you were just going out,” she expostulated.  “You mustn’t let me take you up-stairs again.”

“Stairs are nothing to me,” he said.  “I could climb a mountain.  I have climbed many a one before to-day, and I hope I shall again.  What delightful weather!” he continued, as they reached the drawing-room.  “It makes one feel quite—­quite capable of anything.”

She sat down, while the colonel talked about Crowborough and David Rosser; remembering whose vocation, he realized the desirability of giving the conversation a bookish turn.  While he was remarking upon some of the most recent publications—­quoted from advertisements, for he seldom opened a book—­Knight and a small footman brought in the tea equipage.  Colonel Faversham invited Bridget to officiate, and told himself how delectable she looked as, half-shyly, she passed his cup and saucer.

“You know, Colonel Faversham,” she said, “I cannot help feeling immensely guilty.”

“A libel,” he protested.  “I have never seen a more transparently innocent face in the whole course of my life.”

“Still, I am certain I have kept you from going to your club or somewhere.  Of course I am duly grateful.  Carrissima said I might come here whenever I felt too lonely.”