“Oh dear, no,” said Jimmy.  “We all have to put the brakes hard on now and then; but the fact remains that a coward dies a hundred deaths, you know.”

Carrissima entered the house a moment after he walked away, and going to the drawing-room sat down to tea just as she was in her hat and jacket.

Could it be possible that her father seriously thought of marriage?  In that event, the whole course of her life would be altered!  She could never consent to stay at home if Bridget ruled the roast!  Looking at her watch, presently, Carrissima saw that it was about the time when Lawrence could usually be found in the bosom of his family, and going down-stairs again she let herself out of the house.  On reaching Charteris Street she saw him with Victor on his knees, whilst Phoebe on hers looked at the boy with anxious eyes.

He looked pale and fretful in consequence of yesterday’s party, and when his nurse had carried him out of the room to an accompaniment of noisy expostulations, Carrissima turned to her brother—­

“Lawrence,” she said, “I am really in the most dreadful state of mind.  I am beginning to wonder whether you could possibly have been right, after all.”

“Thank you,” answered Lawrence stiffly.  “But, of course, a prophet is not without honour——­”

“Yes, I know,” Carrissima interrupted.  “It’s about Bridget.”

“What has she been doing?” asked Phoebe.

“You remember she told us that to-day would be her birthday?”

“The most barefaced hint I ever heard in my life,” said Lawrence.

“Well, I thought I would take her a small present——­”

“A pity you can’t hold yourself in a little more,” was the answer.  “You must gush!”

“Anyhow,” Carrissima continued quite humbly, “I went to Donaldson’s—­Phoebe, I saw the duckiest little opal brooch.  I was half tempted——­”

“For goodness’ sake get along with the story!” cried Lawrence fretfully.

“I bought a card-case—­silver,” said Carrissima.

“Gun metal would have done just as well,” suggested Lawrence.

“When I asked the man to engrave Bridget’s initials on it,” said Carrissima, “he knew what they were without being told.  He knew her number in Golfney Place too!”

“Ah, then father had been there before you!” exclaimed Lawrence.

“Yes,” answered Carrissima, “and he has taken her to Richmond to lunch!”

“What did I tell you?” said Lawrence.

“Oh, please don’t tell me again,” entreated Carrissima.  “What is the use?”

“A pity you didn’t think of all this,” he persisted, “before you took the woman up.  I knew what she was.  I told Phoebe.”

“What nonsense,” said Carrissima.  “As if any human being could have imagined she would dream of marrying father that night Mark told us he had met her again.”

“Well,” cried Lawrence in his most weighty tone, “we may see something when Mark comes back from Paris.  Odd that he hasn’t written to Phoebe once since he went away—­his only sister!  Mark may upset the apple cart yet.  It’s certain he was pretty far gone, and I don’t suppose she cares whom she marries, as long as he has a decent income.  It’s true she would naturally prefer a husband who is not likely to live many years.”