“Well,” said Jimmy, “Carrissima insists that she saw you holding Bridget in your arms—­in the act of kissing her, to put it plainly.”

This was a trying moment for Mark Driver.  His face was crimson, and he would have given a great deal to be able to deny the too soft impeachment.  As this was impossible, he lost his temper with Carrissima.  Egoism was probably the prime factor in his present mood.  He thought less of the excuse he had provided than of the painful circumstance that he had been cutting such a sorry figure in her eyes.

While he flattered himself that she regarded him as a kind of king who could do no wrong, she had, in truth, looked upon him as a pretty contemptible scoundrel.  It seemed an additional offence that she should have dissembled her opinion, so that when he, being beguiled, asked her to marry him, she might coolly send him about his business.

A suspicion of something, perhaps, resembling insincerity in his own conduct made him only more intolerant of hers.  He saw now how much better it would have been, instead of trusting for immunity to her ignorance, to have taken his courage in his hands and made a clean breast of what, after all, was only a venial offence.  A counsel of perfection, no doubt, but Mark wished that he had followed it.

He was deeply wounded in the most sensitive part, but while admitting his weakness in yielding to a commonplace temptation, he could make no excuse for Carrissima’s scandalous libel.  An hour ago, she had been the only woman in the world for him; as to Bridget—­well, the old Adam had cropped out for an instant.  To account for his vulnerability one must embark on a study of the theory of Evolution!  If he had been actually affianced to Carrissima, the case would, no doubt, have been more serious, although even then there could be no justification for her shameful accusation.  But he was not affianced to her, and, in the face of what he had just heard, he never wished to be.

Jimmy saw that Mark was deeply moved, and made a shrewd guess at the cause.  In a friendly way, he walked round the writing-table, and standing by the side of the chair, rested a hand on the other’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t take it too seriously,” he said.  “You’ll generally find there’s a way out somehow.  You know I told you, to begin with, that I knew it was an infernal lie!”

“But—­you see—­it wasn’t,” answered Mark.

“I don’t understand,” said Jimmy, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s perfectly true,” muttered Mark, moistening his lips, “that Carrissima came to Golfney Place and saw me——­”

“Saw you—­saw you with Bridget in your arms!  Good Lord!” exclaimed Jimmy, gazing down at Mark’s bowed head.

Rising from his chair, Mark gripped one lapelle of his frock coat in each hand as he paced the small room.