“Oh yes,” replied Mark, so distantly that she looked up suddenly to his face.

“How is your patient?” she inquired.

“Sir Wilford?” said Mark.  “I have just come from Burnham Crescent.  Randolph Messeter operated.  I hope we shall pull him through.”

“Father and I are going abroad,” Carrissima explained.  “I dare say we shall be away quite a month.”

“I hope you will have a good time,” said Mark, and then raising his hat again, he walked on.

Carrissima bit her lower lip and kept her eyes on the pavement.  She had done all she could, and there was an end of it!  Perhaps the lapse of time would make him more reasonable, because it really was ridiculous to behave as if she were the original sinner.  Not that she imagined that anything in the world would ever facilitate the happiness to which she had formerly tried to look forward.

The same evening brought a surprise in the form of a letter from Bridget.  She wished to see Carrissima very particularly indeed.  As it was not very convenient to come to Grandison Square, would Carrissima mind going to Golfney Place at half-past eleven the following morning?

Carrissima certainly could understand the “inconvenience” of a visit to Colonel Faversham’s house, but she scarcely hesitated about going to see Bridget at her lodgings.  Personally, she had not the least antipathy to the marriage, and, moreover, it seemed inevitable that she should see something of Jimmy’s wife in the future.  Consequently there was nothing to be gained by holding aloof in the present.

She was at once impressed by the subtle change in Miss Rosser’s demeanour.  It almost seemed as if she had increased in stature during the last few days; certainly she held her head higher in the air.  There was an obvious accession of dignity, and she greeted her visitor rather condescendingly—­quite charmingly, nevertheless.

“Thank you so very, very much for that lovely rose-bowl,” she exclaimed.  “So clever of you to know just what we wanted.  Jimmy was here when it came yesterday evening, and he admired it immensely.  Besides, it was our first wedding present!”

“Now I must add my congratulations,” said Carrissima.

“Carrissima!” answered Bridget, “it’s all beautiful.  Do you like my ring?” she continued, holding out her left hand.  “Jimmy wanted to see you, but I insisted upon having you all to myself.  Do, please, sit down!”

Carrissima took a chair, and her thoughts flew back to that last dreadful visit when she had sat nearly in the same position, striving to lead Mark to believe that she had not seen him with Bridget in his arms.

“You must have been immensely surprised to get my letter,” said Bridget.  “I had a long discussion with Jimmy before I sent it.  Of course it would not have been written but for what he told me, only I should love to try and make you happy too, though you may hate me for it.  I don’t want you to hate me,” Bridget added, “because I could grow very fond of you if you would let me.  Mean to blame one’s circumstances, isn’t it?  Still, you know, if my father and mother had lived I have no shadow of doubt I should have gone along quite decently, and you would have thought I was a very estimable person.  But I really want to talk about Mark!”