“So am I,” murmured Carrissima.

“I can’t help seeing,” Mark continued, “that I am responsible in a way.  If I hadn’t mentioned her name at Phoebe’s that evening I was late for dinner you would never have gone to Golfney Place, and Bridget would never have crossed Colonel Faversham’s path.”

“How devoutly I wish she hadn’t,” said Carrissima.  “But what can anybody do?  It is a day after the fair.  She has the game in her hands if she cares to play it.  The astonishing thing is that she has waited so long.”

“I wonder,” exclaimed Mark, “whether I should find her at home.”

“If so she is scarcely likely to be alone.  The only way to make certain of catching her without father is to go soon after breakfast or after dinner.”

“I will go this evening,” said Mark.

“What for?” asked Carrissima.

“You see,” he answered, “I’m a bad hand at sitting still with my hands in my pockets.  I suppose surgery makes one think something can always be attempted.”

“Still,” suggested Carrissima, with a smile, “you can scarcely dream of going to Golfney Place and asking Bridget’s intentions!”

“The Lord knows!” said Mark.  “I shall see how the cat jumps.  Anyhow, I am bound to have a look in.”

“I shall feel curious to hear how you get along,” answered Carrissima.  “And now suppose we banish the topic.  Can’t we talk about something more agreeable?  I am afraid I have been making my poor father a little uncomfortable at home.  Mark, I am developing into a little beast.”

On the contrary, he thought she had never looked more charming.  It is probable that their recent separation caused him to regard Carrissima more favourably than when he used to meet her, as a matter of course, once or twice every week.  He had not seen her face for longer than a month, then only once after two or three months’ separation.  She came upon him now as a kind of revelation, the more because of her obvious anxiety on account of Colonel Faversham.  For years he had ever found her bright and equable; the best of good comrades, but this afternoon their intercourse seemed for the first time to be touched by emotion.

“Tell me about your plans for the future—­if you have made any,” Carrissima urged.

“Oh, I’m always making plans,” he returned, and began to explain his intention to lookout for rooms in the neighbourhood of Harley Street—­that medical bazaar.

While still at Saint Josephine’s Hospital he had made the acquaintance of Mr. Randolph Messeter, a man considerably older than himself; an eminent surgeon, who had more than once invited Mark to dinner.  Randolph Messeter frequently came to Saint Josephine’s to operate, and on such occasions Mark always administered the anaesthetic.  Messeter had more than hinted that he might be able to put some work in Mark’s way, and the intention was that he should specialize as an anaesthetist, at the same time waiting for ordinary patients.  Carrissima listened with the deepest interest, knowing, however, that his resources would be taxed to the utmost for some time to come.  That he would make his way before very long she did not doubt for an instant, but how convenient he would in the meantime find her own income of eight hundred pounds a year!