“Anyhow,” was the answer, “the time is bound to come when she won’t possess one.”

“What does she propose to do in that case?” said Carrissima.  “At present her dressmaker’s bill must be rather extravagant, and I wish I could buy such hats!  I suppose,” Carrissima added, “that marriage is to be the way out of her difficulty.”

“At least,” replied Mark, “you may console yourself that nothing is settled at the moment.”

“How do you know?” asked Carrissima hastily.

“You may accept it as a fact,” he insisted.

“Undoubtedly,” she retorted, “your conversation must have taken an extraordinary turn last night.  Mark, you are rather tantalizing.  It is so evident that you are only favouring me with elegant extracts.”

“Oh well, I don’t want to give the girl away,” he said.  “And look here, Carrissima, I don’t want you to drop upon her too heavily.”

“Is that a custom of mine?” she exclaimed.  “As if I want to drop upon her at all!  Frankly, I like Bridget.  You see, we are in agreement so far.  Or rather, I should like her if she would let the foolish colonel go.  Oh dear, I really ought not to talk in this way!”

“Upon my word,” said Mark, “I believe she scarcely realizes what she is doing.”

“Then you admit she is doing it!”

“A kind of youthful irresponsibility,” he returned.  “That accounts for everything.”

“You seem to forget she is older than I am,” said Carrissima.

He laughed as he looked down at her small figure, and if he had not by any means succeeded in relieving her dismal anticipations concerning Colonel Faversham, he had to a certain degree caused her to feel easier about his own future.  Flattering herself that she had now a firm grip of the situation, Carrissima began to marvel that a man of her father’s long experience could remain blind to the facts of the case.

“Father,” she said, alone with him after dinner the same evening, “I heard some rather astonishing news this afternoon.”

“Ah well,” answered the colonel, “it takes a great deal to astonish me.  The more I know of the world the more extraordinary things I expect to hear.”

“It was about Bridget,” said Carrissima.

“What about her?” he demanded, turning in his chair to face his daughter.

“Judging from the way she lives and dresses,” Carrissima continued, “I always assumed she had plenty of money.”

“I hate to see a girl of your age mercenary,” was the answer.  “Good gracious, when I was two-and-twenty I never gave money a thought.  I should never have dreamed of bothering myself about the amount of my friends’ incomes.  I don’t now for that matter.  Always keep your heart young, Carrissima!  I am as disinterested now as ever I was in my salad days, thank goodness!  Odd where you get this calculating habit!”

“I didn’t know I was mercenary and calculating and all the rest of it,” said Carrissima.  “I thought, perhaps, you might feel interested to hear——­”