But for the fact that Bridget was unwilling, he might not have taken a very serious view of his own behaviour, especially as it seemed obvious that Carrissima had appeared on the scene a moment too late to witness it.  Even if she had not dropped her roses on the landing, her demeanour must have sufficed to lull him into a false sense of security.  Nevertheless, he felt extremely uncomfortable until he left the room; and indeed he perceived that even his presence at the house might, after yesterday’s protestations, require some explanation.  Hence his suggestion to go to Grandison Square after dinner the same evening.

He wished devoutly that he had not made a fool of himself, without considering that he had been guilty of anything worse than an act of folly.  It was not as if he were actually engaged to Carrissima, although he was now in a mood to regret that he had ever bestowed a thought on any other woman since his birth.

Mark had arranged to see Sir Wilford Scones again before night, and his intention was to make his way from Burnham Crescent to Grandison Square; but the question now arose whether he ought not to call upon Bridget and make some sort of amende for the incident of the afternoon.

“Oh, Mark!” she exclaimed, the moment he entered her presence, and before he found time to speak; “how could you do it!  You, of all men!  You always seemed just the one to be trusted.  What can there be about me that you should imagine I was that—­that sort of woman?”

“What was there about me, rather?” said Mark, looking rather shamefaced.  “Bridget, I can only tell you I am immensely sorry.”

“Suppose,” she cried, “that Carrissima had seen you!  Suppose she had not dropped her flowers!  What would be the use of saying you were sorry then?  She has always been horridly jealous——­”

“Carrissima jealous!”

“From the first time she came here!  I suppose it began that evening you took me to Belloni’s and kept her waiting for dinner.  She would never have forgiven you.  Mark, you have had a very, very narrow escape, and I am not certain you deserve to get off so easily.  Because, don’t you see, your treatment of me was the worse on account of your love for her.”

He stood with a dejected expression on his face, and nothing more was said, for a few moments; then Bridget lightly rested a hand on his sleeve.

“Ah, well,” she said, “I don’t want to pile up the agony.  Besides,” she added, with an obvious effort, “I must be honest.  I—­I know I have given you reason to think meanly of me—­vilely!  But, don’t you see, Mark, I—­I have done with all that.  I was never so anxious to make the best of myself.  Not that it can conceivably matter.”

Mark left the house in a chastened mood, wondering as he walked towards Burnham Crescent whether it were possible that she had fallen sincerely in love with Jimmy Clynesworth.

Was it likely that, after all her alarums and excursions, she had found a resting-place at last; that Carrissima was right when she insisted that Jimmy had ousted Colonel Faversham, but wrong when she imagined that Bridget’s inducement was his larger income?