Carrissima, now prepared to recognize deception everywhere, found it difficult to look cheerful.  She had no doubt that Bridget knew all about the rooms, which Mark began rather eagerly to describe.  It was obvious, however, that he was impatient to get away, and Carrissima, raising her eyes abruptly, intercepted a curiously entreating glance from him to Bridget, who at once held out her hand.

“Shall you be at home this evening?” he asked, turning to Carrissima the next moment.

Although she would infinitely have preferred to say “no,” to avoid seeing him again, indeed, as long as the world lasted, she felt afraid lest she should awaken a suspicion of her enlightenment.  It seemed inevitable that she must continue to meet him in the future as she had done in the past, and, perhaps, the sooner the next encounter took place the better!

“Oh yes, I think so,” she answered.  “Shall I see you?”

“I—­I thought of looking you up after dinner,” said Mark, and the moment he had left the room Miller, with his usual inscrutable face, brought in the tea.  Not for the world would Carrissima cut short her visit, and for another quarter of an hour or more she sat listening to Bridget’s inquiries concerning Mark’s new quarters and his plans for the future.

“I had no idea that he had left Duffield’s Hotel,” she said presently.  “Mark is a dreadful truant.  He never comes near me now!  I suppose,” she added, “he is a great friend of Jimmy’s?”

“They and Lawrence were at school together at Brighton,” replied Carrissima, and now she thought she might safely say “good-bye.”

Bridget seemed unwilling to release her hand, as they stood together on almost the same spot where Carrissima had seen Miss Rosser in Mark’s arms!  She looked down at her guest furtively, as if she were unable to make up her mind about something.  Perhaps, thought Carrissima, she was wondering whether or not it were desirable to do anything further to remove any possible suspicion!  Still, Bridget said nothing unusual, and having once more thanked Carrissima for the roses she insisted on going to see her out of the house.

What a joy it was to breathe the uncontaminated air again!  Carrissima walked in the direction of Grandison Square with her mind in a tumult.  Her god had fallen!  She was far too wildly excited to be capable of anything resembling a sane view of the maddening situation!  She longed above all things to reach home, to run up-stairs to her own room, to lock the door, to be away from all mankind.

The pressing question was not whether Mark loved Bridget.  That had already been answered.  What she wished to make up her mind about was the nature of his “love”—­much abused word!  If he intended to marry Bridget, why not have said so and have done with it?  He had the right to please himself.

His secrecy, his deception, surely signified something base!  It was inconceivable that he had not seen her for three weeks—­in the face of what Carrissima had witnessed half-an-hour ago!  Why had Mark gone out of his way to keep his intercourse with Bridget a secret unless there was something to be ashamed of?  Why had he pretended to feel satisfied, even pleased, at the news of her intimacy with Jimmy?  Why, above everything, had he recently changed his demeanour towards his oldest friend?