“I’m sorry to be so late,” said Mark, when at last he entered Carrissima’s presence that evening.

“Oh, it isn’t too late,” she answered.  “My father is out, and I am thankful for any one to relieve the monotony of things.”

“The fact is,” Mark explained, “I have a serious case near here.  I was kept rather longer than I anticipated.  My third visit to-day!”

“You must be making a rapid fortune,” she cried gaily.

“Anyhow, it’s a beginning,” he said, adding, after a momentary pause, “I thought you might be surprised to see me at Golfney Place this afternoon.”

“No, I don’t know that I was,” returned Carrissima.  “Just a wee bit, perhaps; but then, you know, one ought never to feel astonished to meet a doctor anywhere.”

“Oh well, Bridget’s not a patient,” said Mark, with a smile.  “I was on my way home from Sir Wilford’s, when I saw her in a motor-car just by the corner of Golfney Place.  She insisted that I should go in with her, and because of her importunity I consented.”

“Has the carpet arrived yet?” asked Carrissima.

“It was laid while I was out this afternoon,” was the answer.

“Well, I hope you approve of my taste.”

“It looks first-rate,” said Mark.  “The room is transformed.  I have some idea of putting up my fees on the strength of it.  I should like you to come and have a look,” he added.

“Why, of course,” returned Carrissima.  “I must ask Phoebe to bring me one afternoon, and you shall give us some more of those delicious cakes.”

Mark Driver was certainly living in a fool’s paradise that evening.  He did not imagine for an instant that he should ever hear of the escapade again.  The incident was ended.  Carrissima remained in blissful ignorance, and he had made his peace with Bridget.

Bliss, however, was far from Carrissima that night.  For one thing, she blamed herself severely for having opened her heart to Sybil Clynesworth.  Although it seemed obvious that Mark had been playing an equivocal game, there could, Carrissima felt certain on reflection, be no justification for the innuendoes which she had allowed herself to make.  The truth was that even now she scarcely knew what she had said in her wrath.  She remembered that odious ideas had flashed unbidden across her mind—­ideas which now appeared as unworthy of herself as of Mark.

Still, after making every allowance, her disillusioning remained complete.  How could a man feel an interest in the precise colour of her own eyes one day and kiss the lips of another woman the next?  She knew that her wish had been father to the thought, and she felt exceedingly bitter against Miss Bridget Rosser, who appeared still to have three men dangling at her heels.

One of these was becoming impatient.  Colonel Faversham had reached the end of his tether.  He realized that his authority over Bridget would not bear a great strain, and accordingly on Wednesday morning he made his way to Donaldson’s, where he purchased a handsome and expensive jewelled waist-belt, such as she had admired on an actress when he took her to the play a few evenings ago.  Armed with this peace-offering, Colonel Faversham reached Golfney Place at eleven o’clock on the morning after Mark Driver’s unfortunate visit.