“You have not asked why I left Golfney Place,” suggested Bridget, leaning forward in her chair and digging the ferrule of her sunshade into the turf.

“I fancy I know,” said Jimmy.  “You lacked courage to face old Faversham.”

“Oh, how abominably I treated him!” murmured Bridget.

“There is not the least doubt about it,” Jimmy admitted.

“So very, very badly,” she continued gravely, with her eyes on the grass, “that I wonder you took the trouble to find me.”

“Do you?” he asked, and as she remained silent for a few moments Jimmy repeated the question.  “Do you?” he said.

“Why, no,” she cried, raising her head and facing him with a laugh.  “But it is more than I deserve,” she added.  “Jimmy, I was in great straits.  I saw how fast my money was going, that I should have none left in a year or two, and so when Colonel Faversham bothered me to marry him I gave in.  I thought I could do it, you know.”

“Until I came to undeceive you!” suggested Jimmy.

“Yes,” said Bridget; “but I was afraid you might be—­be disgusted!  I wanted you to know, and yet I didn’t.  I tried to tell you time after time, and still I couldn’t say the word which I thought might drive you away from me.  I saw it would be impossible to marry Colonel Faversham, but if I threw him over what should I do in the future?  I hesitated and hesitated.  I went to Crowborough because I hoped the influence of the place might give me courage; it didn’t and I had some wild idea of appealing to Mark for help.  That—­that wouldn’t do, and Colonel Faversham insisted I should tell him when I would be his wife—­he talked of our being married within a week or ten days.  Oh dear! how hard I tried to make him understand; but I couldn’t succeed, and at last in desperation a fresh idea occurred to me:  I would run away!  I told him to come for his answer the next morning—­oh, I know I was horrid to him!”

“Well, we agree about that,” said Jimmy.  “We are going to agree about everything, you see.  I suppose,” he added, “you thought you would appeal to me as a sort of forlorn hope?”

“Oh, it was scarcely worth calling a hope,” she answered.  “You had said so much about truthfulness.  You could forgive anything else but deceit, and of course I had deceived you from the beginning.”

“So that you love me in the end,” he said.

“Ah, Jimmy!” murmured Bridget.  “But nobody will ever relieve it.  They will think I threw Colonel Faversham over because you were the richer.  It is only natural they should say that.”

“Let them say what they like,” was the answer.  “When you told me about your engagement I could do only one thing.  I should have liked to ask you to come away with me then and there; but I—­well, it couldn’t be done, dear.  The moment I heard you were free of the colonel, I hadn’t a doubt in the world.  Bridget, you will have to make up your mind to marry me at once.”