Jimmy could not help feeling sore about it.  For one thing, he regretted the necessity to admit to Sybil that the false report contained that one word of truth.  Worse than this! an indignity had been put on Bridget by Mark Driver, who seemed the last man in the world to inflict it.  Jimmy, however, realized that one of her most potent charms was a delectable, seductive ingenuousness and irresponsibility, which might, perhaps, on occasion prove a little misleading to unregenerate man.  Nevertheless, he felt sore as he left Weymouth Street.

CHAPTER XXIII

HAVING IT OUT

“Mr. Driver,” announced Knight at half-past three that Monday afternoon.

Carrissima at once came to the conclusion that she had never seen him look so solemn—­or quite so handsome, although she wished that he had stayed away.

“How are you, Mark?” she said, mustering a smile, however, as she held out her hand.

“I have come rather early,” he answered, and Carrissima noticed that he barely touched her finger tips.

“Won’t you sit down?” she suggested, returning to her own chair.

“So that I might make certain of finding you alone,” continued Mark, still standing in the middle of the room.

“Well, your object is attained,” she cried brightly.  “Father is not at home, and I am not expecting any visitors.”

“I thought the best plan,” he said, “was to have it out without any waste of time.”

“Oh dear!” murmured Carrissima.  “Have what out?”

“I am going to speak quite plainly——­”

“Why in the world shouldn’t you?”

“I want to know,” said Mark, “why you—­of all people—­told Sybil Clynesworth—­well, what you did tell her?”

“What did I?” asked Carrissima.

“It amounts to this.  That I have been acting like a pretty miserable humbug and scoundrel combined.”

“Mark!” faltered Carrissima, “I didn’t.  I couldn’t have said anything of the sort.”

“Then Sybil deliberately invented the story!”

“But what—­what story?” said Carrissima.

“The charming little tale she repeated to Jimmy!”

“If only you could manage to be a little more explicit,” urged Carrissima, with a suggestion of annoyance in her tone.

“Oh, I shall speak out plainly enough,” said Mark.  “Sybil told Jimmy I had been carrying on a wretched intrigue with Bridget—­neither more nor less.  She gave you as her authority.”

“She had no right,” exclaimed Carrissima, and for an instant Mark’s face cleared.

“Do you mean to say that you haven’t mentioned my name to Sybil in such a connection?” he demanded, taking a step nearer.

“Yes, I mentioned your name,” Carrissima admitted.  “But I could never have said that—­never!  I feel almost certain I couldn’t.”

“Good heavens!” cried Mark, “you don’t seem to know what you told her and what you didn’t!”