“Any one would imagine,” was the answer, “that I had been wrapped in cotton-wool all my life.  I suppose I should have been if you could have managed it.  Well, I am off to Weymouth Street at once,” added Jimmy.

CHAPTER XXII

INCRIMINATING HIMSELF

Carrissima felt compelled to go to Charteris Street.  She could not resist the temptation of telling Lawrence this latest news about their father and Bridget, whose departure from Golfney Place made him quite genial.

“The best thing I’ve heard for a long time,” he exclaimed.  “Let us hope we’ve all seen the last of her.”

Lawrence found points of interest in the situation.  If, as Carrissima insisted, Colonel Faversham had been in the habit of making Bridget frequent presents, and had now received them back, surely matters must have advanced farther than anybody believed.  There was something formal about such a restitution, and perhaps they had even more than they knew to feel thankful for.

He took Phoebe to Grandison Square after dinner on Sunday evening in order to observe for himself the change in Colonel Faversham’s demeanour, at which Carrissima had hinted.  Certainly the colonel had not much to say even concerning the progress of the Parliament Bill through the House of Commons, and presently Lawrence skilfully introduced Bridget’s name.

“By the bye,” he asked, turning to Carrissima, “you haven’t discovered Miss Rosser’s address yet?”

“I haven’t tried,” was the answer, as Colonel Faversham’s cough became troublesome.

“You ought to get Mark to give you something for it,” suggested Lawrence, and the colonel was explaining that it was merely a tickling in his throat, when, opportunely, Mark Driver entered the room.

During his hospital days, he would often look in at Grandison Square on Sunday evenings, and just now he felt a greater longing for Carrissima’s society than ever in his life before, as one may pine for a cooling draught on the morning following a night’s carouse.

“Ah!” exclaimed Lawrence, “here’s the man who may be able to enlighten us.”

“What about?” asked Mark, as he shook hands with one after another.

“The bird that’s flown,” said Lawrence, with a laugh.

“Who’s that?”

“Bridget,” Carrissima explained, “has gone away from Golfney Place.”

“And left no address!” cried her brother.

Carrissima, having now recovered her usual common-sense, did not for a moment imagine that Mark’s astonishment was counterfeited.  She felt certain that his inquiries were perfectly sincere, bewildered as she still remained whenever she thought of his conduct that afternoon of disillusion.