“Then Jasper does care a little,” said Bridget wonderingly. “But all this——” She looked round the dingy room. “What was your idea when you came to me?” she asked simply.
“Great interference on my part, no doubt,” said Miss Mason gruffly. “Began to make up a plan. Thought if he was to see you again in a pretty room and a pretty frock——” she stopped.
Bridget glanced down at her own dress. “Yes?” she said again. She had reddened slightly.
“Can tell me to go if you like,” said Miss Mason. “Had no business to come. But thought—— My dear. I just planned to take you to a pretty room and bring Jasper to you.”
Bridget looked at her. “I don’t know who you are,” she said impulsively, “nor anything about you. But you are a dear.”
“Then you’re not angry?” asked Miss Mason.
“I want,” said Bridget, in a muffled voice, “to cry. But I’m not going to. What were your plans? I’m sure you’d made some.”
And then Miss Mason unfolded all the schemes she had planned during the night hours. They were of a little flat somewhere in Chelsea not too far from the studios. The drawing-room was to be furnished in shades of brown and cream, and it was to be filled with roses in slender glass vases and china bowls. And there was to be a woman among the flowers, and Jasper coming in to find her.
“But I haven’t the money for that,” said Bridget. “And I can’t ask Jasper for any more.”
“But I have,” said Miss Mason bluntly. “My dear, I’m an old woman. Is it worth while to you, for your husband’s sake, to give me the pleasure of arranging it?”