“Oh, Lawrence!” expostulated Phoebe.  “How can you talk like that.  He doesn’t mean what he says, Carrissima.”

“Indeed I do,” he answered.  “I am a man of the world.”

“Still,” said Carrissima, “you needn’t be a man of the flesh and the devil!”

“Anyhow,” returned Lawrence, “we shall see what happens when Mark comes back.”

“One thing is certain,” said Carrissima, “nothing on earth would induce me to live at home if father were to marry Bridget.”

“As if you could live anywhere else.  Where could you go?”

“I shouldn’t stay there!” said Carrissima.

“The idea of a girl of your age setting up on her own is ridiculous,” was the reply.  “As bad as the other woman!  You have made your bed and you will have to lie on it.”

“Ah, well!” said Carrissima, “it won’t be at Number 13, Grandison Square.”

CHAPTER VIII

A PROPOSAL

“Has Colonel Faversham returned?” asked Carrissima when Knight opened the door.

“The colonel is in the smoking-room,” was the answer, and she went there at once.  He was leaning back in an easy-chair, with his feet on the fender, a cigar between his lips, and an unusually benignant expression on his face.

“Well, Carrissima,” he inquired amicably, “where have you sprung from?”

“I went to Charteris Street,” she returned.  “What have you been doing since eleven?”

“What have I been doing?” said Colonel Faversham, rubbing his palms violently together.  “Well, now, to tell you the truth, I’ve been out on the spree!  Such a glorious day!  I couldn’t resist the temptation.  A man at the club—­I don’t think you know him—­Comberbatch—­asked me to share a taxi and run down to Richmond to lunch.  Delightful in the park.  And the view from the Terrace!  It made me long to go on the river again.”

“Why—­why didn’t you?” Carrissima faltered.

“Come, come, what are you dreaming of?” said Colonel Faversham, with one of his boisterous laughs.  “Picture my rowing in these clothes:  a frock coat!”

“Oh well,” she returned, “I scarcely imagined you would row yourself.”

“Not row myself!” he exclaimed.  “Why shouldn’t I, in the name of goodness?  Let me tell you I can pull a good oar still.  If only I had had my flannels!  You seem to think I’m fit for nothing.”

Colonel Faversham astonished Carrissima by rising from his chair and taking off his coat.  Removing the links from his shirt-cuff, he solemnly turned back the sleeve, then clenching his fist, slowly raised his forearm, looking the while so red in the face that she grew quite alarmed.

“Feel that!” he said.

“I will take your word for it——­”

“Kindly do as I ask you,” he insisted, with his arm still bent.  “I can’t stand like this all day.”

Carrissima accordingly felt his biceps with her thumb and forefinger.