Strange as it might appear to him, that was precisely the truth.  She scarcely remembered what she had said in her excitement and disappointment, although she had little doubt it was something far too much to the point.  His wrath was in some degree a relief to Carrissima, although she could not imagine what plausible excuse he could intend to offer.  Because, after all, she could not disbelieve the evidence of her own senses.

“Mark,” she said, “I don’t think you are treating me in the least fairly.”

“How is that?” he demanded.

“Oh well, you come here and take the offensive——­”

“Then you believe I have nothing to do but defend myself?” said Mark.

“I can only suppose,” she retorted, “that you fancy the best method is to try to carry the war into the enemy’s country.”

“My enemy—­you!  Good Lord!” exclaimed Mark.

“Of course,” she continued, “there doesn’t exist the slightest reason why you should take the trouble to excuse yourself to me.  You have done me no wrong.”

“By Jove! you have done me a cruel one,” he said, with evident emotion.

“I am sorry I said a word to Sybil,” answered Carrissima.  “But she happened to be here when I got home from Golfney Place that afternoon.  You know what I saw there——­”

“I wish to goodness you hadn’t gone near the house!” said Mark.

“No doubt you do!” she retorted.  “It was no business of mine, only it seemed so utterly inconsistent with that you distinctly told me!”

“I told you precisely the truth,” he insisted.

“Oh, what nonsense!” said Carrissima.

“How could it be!  You told me that Bridget was—­was nothing to you.”

“She was nothing.  She is nothing.”

“If that is really the case,” said Carrissima, “why, then your conduct appears inexplicable.”

“Why didn’t you tackle me?” he demanded.  “Surely you have known me long enough!”

Carrissima realized that the circumstances were against her.  She had, before to-day, come to the conclusion that those first excited suspicions were entirely unjustifiable; although Mark had no doubt deceived her, he could not be so bad as she had imagined at the time.  She perceived that she might find one excuse which yet she durst not mention.  If she could admit plainly that the sight of Bridget in his arms made her madly jealous and for the moment unaccountable for her words, then, perhaps, Mark might be mollified.  At least this defence would be true.  It seemed incongruous that she instead of him should be considered the offender; but above everything Carrissima must keep back the only explanation which was likely to sound plausible.

“It was nothing to me,” she said.

“Anyhow, it was a great deal to me,” replied Mark.  “Of course I played the fool that afternoon.  I don’t want to make excuses.  I admit there are none.  But you ought to understand that Bridget was an innocent victim.  No one was to blame but myself, and I not very severely.  Yet because of one act of momentary folly you could tell Sybil that monstrous story.”