“My only excuse,” he concluded, “is that I have the honour to call myself a friend of Miss Rosser’s.”

“Our dearest niece,” murmured Miss Dobson.

“You may know,” said Jimmy, who had scarcely ever felt quite so nervous in his life, “that Bridget has been living at No. 5, Golfney Place!”

“Extremely unsuitable on all accounts,” answered Miss Dobson.

“Extremely,” said Miss Frances.

“As she left her rooms the day before yesterday,” Jimmy explained, “I thought it possible she might have come to you.”

“We sincerely wish she had,” said Miss Dobson.

“Sincerely,” said Miss Frances.

“You may think it is rather strange that I should be pursuing Bridget in this way,” suggested Jimmy.

“We do,” said Miss Dobson.

“My object,” continued Jimmy, “is to ask her to marry me!”

“Will you kindly take a chair,” cried Miss Dobson, and they all looked about as if to make certain there was nothing in the way, and then sat down.  “The present,” Miss Dobson added, “may not be the most suitable occasion to inquire concerning your eligibility.  My niece is a sweet girl.”

“I entirely agree with you,” said Jimmy.

“A little impulsive, it may be,” said Miss Dobson.

“Perhaps, a little,” murmured Miss Frances.

“But exceedingly good to her father after our poor sister’s death.”

“Very, very good,” said Miss Frances, and both sisters blinked their eyes as Jimmy rose to say “good-bye.”  He was, however, not to make his escape just yet.  The Misses Dobson were obviously disturbed in mind.  They could not tolerate the idea of Bridget’s whereabouts remaining unknown, and all Jimmy’s coolness and assurance were required to restore them to anything resembling tranquillity.

He left the house with a feeling that the scent of lavender must be still clinging to his clothes, and the next morning found him at Crowborough.  There, however, he could obtain no news of Bridget, and now he began to wonder whether it was probable she had gone to Paris, where she had lived with David Rosser during the last years of his life.  It was on Monday morning that Sybil saw Jimmy in the act of parting from a stranger at the door.

“Who was your visitor?” she inquired, having waited in the dining-room for the purpose.

“A man named Winchester—­a private detective,” said Jimmy.

“Oh, my dear!” exclaimed Sybil, “how sincerely I wish you would let Miss Rosser go her own way!”

“Haven’t I succeeded yet,” demanded Jimmy, “in making you understand that her way will always be mine?”

“And yet you know how horridly she treated poor Colonel Faversham, Jimmy.  You have always insisted on truth and honesty before anything——­”

“Now I only insist,” said Jimmy, “that Bridget shall become my wife.”

At this Sybil grew reckless.

“Jimmy,” she cried, “it is really quite impossible.”