In his impetuosity he called her attention to the advantage of a quiet wedding, since there would be no absurd preparations to cause delay.  As they had only to please themselves, they might just as well get married forthwith . . . say next week or the week after.  Bridget, however, quite good-humouredly refused to entertain any suggestion of the kind, protesting that she had done enough for one morning.  With these mitigations, Colonel Faversham’s glee appeared fatuous.  Always disposed to boast of his capacity to vie with men a quarter of a century younger than himself, he had never, surely, done so well as now!  He went to Donaldson’s for a diamond ring, which was put on Bridget’s finger the same afternoon, although she declared it must be taken off again the moment he had gone.  The secret must be thoroughly kept!

While Colonel Faversham approved of every endeavour to keep Carrissima and everybody else in the dark for the present, he was determined to stand no nonsense.  He requested her to go to Golfney Place, and following the line of least resistance, she went, persuading Bridget to come to Grandison Square as her father wished.  There one afternoon a few days after the beginning of her engagement she met Jimmy Clynesworth.

CHAPTER XII

SYBIL

Miss Clynesworth was considerably the oldest member of the group (consisting of the Favershams, the Drivers and the Clynesworths) with which this episode in Bridget Rosser’s life is concerned.

She was, in fact, more than forty years of age, and even in her adolescence she had never been beautiful.  On the other hand, her face wore too amiable an expression to be considered very plain, and there was an almost captivating quaintness in the old-fashioned figure she presented.  She seldom added to her wardrobe unless Jimmy bantered her into it and gave her a cheque which, as a matter of honour, was to be used for that especial purpose.  Even then Sybil sometimes ventured to deceive him.

Short, although not quite so short as Carrissima, she had a thickset but flat figure, and a conscientious objection to make her drabbish-coloured hair appear more plentiful than it was.

Her skin was rather florid, her light blue eyes were prominent, her features being the only part of her with any approach to boldness.  A kind of amateur ministering angel, she was often appealed to—­and never in vain—­by those in illness or affliction.  Sybil Clynesworth was one of the women (not so rare as might be imagined in these days) into whose calculations the idea of marriage had seldom or never entered.  Perhaps her powerful maternal instinct had been diffused from her youth up, and she regarded all who were in bodily or spiritual need as her children.  It will be seen that she had a large family!

It seems probable that Sybil’s charitable inclinations were inherited from her father and Jimmy’s; since this half-brother of hers might be said to share them in a secret, shamefaced way.  But with the difference that while the one took life with profound seriousness, the other appeared to look upon it as a huge jest.