“My dear Miss Rosser,” said Colonel Faversham, “I am afraid it must be a rather dull life you’re leading.  But it will be entirely your own fault if ever you find yourself bored in future.  Carrissima has no end of friends, and hers shall be yours.  Then there’s my daughter-in-law!  As for books, my library was left to me by an uncle who had nothing better to do than to read from morning till night.  You must allow me to send you a suitable selection.”

When Carrissima came home, a little later, she raised her eyebrows on seeing Bridget Rosser presiding at the tea-table, with Colonel Faversham seated rather close by her side.  As he began to explain his good fortune in meeting the visitor at the door, Carrissima told herself that she knew exactly how things would turn out!

The truth was that Colonel Faversham had always been somewhat dangerously susceptible.  Lawrence could never feel certain that his father was too old to think of marrying again.  Carrissima knew that for the next few days he would talk of nobody but Bridget; that he would lend her books, and perhaps even express a wish to invite her to dine.  He would on every opportunity pay her extravagant compliments and make himself generally ridiculous; then he would begin to forget her existence and fall back into his ordinary routine of bridge and golf until another attractive face arrested his attention.

Although he sang Miss Rosser’s praises loudly that Saturday afternoon, and spoke of her frequently on Sunday and during the next few evenings, Carrissima scarcely suspected that the colonel had met Bridget since her visit to Grandison Square.  She was certainly astounded when, going to see her small nephew one afternoon a week or so later, she found that she had run her head into a hornets’ nest.

“You have done a fine thing!” said Lawrence.  “That is the worst of you.”

“Oh, do please tell me what is the best, or at least the medium, for a change,” was the answer.

“My dear Carrie——­”

“If you call me Carrie you will drive me mad,” said Carrissima.

“I fancy you must be,” exclaimed her brother, standing on the hearthrug and looking as solemn as the judge he hoped some day to become.  One hand was thrust between the buttons of his morning coat, the other clasped its lapelle, his head was flung back, and one foot rested on the fender.  “An immense pity,” he added, “that you can never mind your own business.”

Carrissima skilfully mimicked his attitude.

“May it please you, m’lud, and gentlemen of the jury,” she said, causing Lawrence hastily to change his pose, and Phoebe to look a little scandalized.

“There’s a time for everything,” he insisted, with a blush.  “Let me tell you this is no laughing matter.”

“You should not make yourself look so ridiculous,” said Carrissima.  “Why should you everlastingly be retained for the prosecution?”