“Would you like to step into the dining-room, colonel?” suggested Miller, giving him a square envelope.

“Damn the dining-room!” shouted Colonel Faversham, as with trembling fingers he broke the seal, whilst Miller still held the bag.  Colonel Faversham did not wait to fix his eye-glass.

“Dear colonel Faversham” (he read),

“How sorry I am to give you pain, and I know that I am doing so.  I cannot possibly marry you, and I have not the courage to say so to your face.  Why didn’t you understand how hard I tried to tell you this morning—­you really might have helped me out!  You have always been so very kind.  I positively hate to treat you badly.  I have put all your presents inside the dressing-bag.  Please try to forgive me, although I don’t suppose you ever will!  If it is any consolation to you, I feel—­oh, so miserable!

“Yours sincerely,

“Bridget Rosser.”

Although the contents of the letter were easy enough to master, Colonel Faversham must needs fix his monocle, in order to read it again.  “That infernal Jimmy!” he muttered, then folded the sheet of paper and bestowed it in his breast pocket.

“The parcel, colonel,” suggested Miller, as he turned towards the door.

For a moment Colonel Faversham stood scowling at the butler and what he held in his hand.  His first impulse was to refuse to have anything to do with it; but, after all, its contents were of considerable value.  He might, perhaps, leave it at his club, although it could not remain there for ever, and perhaps it would be better to take it at once to Grandison Square and lock it up in the smoking-room cupboard.

At last he put out his hand, and came forth to the doorstep holding the crocodile-hide bag.

“Good-morning, colonel!” said Miller, but although his tone was even more suave and respectful than usual, Colonel Faversham fancied he detected in it something ironic.  No doubt the man had formed his own opinion as to what was going on; but, thank goodness, nobody outside Number 5, Golfney Place had the faintest suspicion of his engagement!

He quite understood that this was broken beyond repair.  Colonel Faversham knew when he was beaten.  He had been treated in the most abominable manner, and he never desired to see Bridget’s face again.  Unaccustomed to carry a parcel through the streets, he was annoyed inasmuch as he could not see any kind of cab until he drew near to his own house, and unfortunately Carrissima happened to be looking out at the dining-room window.

She could not, however, see his face, and as he had left home in such ebullient spirits a little while ago, she went to meet him in the hall, where her eyes at once fell upon the bag.

“What is that?” she asked brightly.  “A present for little Victor?”

“No,” exclaimed the colonel, mimicking her voice, “it isn’t a present for little Victor!  What in the world should I be doing with a present for little Victor at this hour of the day?”