"I was wondering about the colour of your eyes. I can't quite make up my mind about them," he continued. "At one moment they look grey, at another blue."
"Surely," answered Carrissima, quite unwontedly happy, "you have known me long enough to feel no doubt."
"It is possible," said Mark, "that I have known you too long."
"Oh, thank you," she exclaimed. "So custom stales any variety they possess."
"Not at all," he urged. "What I meant was that familiarity, as the copybooks say, may breed a kind of—well, scarcely contempt——"
"Mark," said Carrissima, "the more you say the worse you will make it. I really think you had better be quiet. How long is it," she asked, as they walked towards Weymouth Street on the way to Grandison Square, "since you saw Bridget?"
"Not since the day after my return from Paris," he replied. "I have not been near Golfney Place. Nor," he added, "have I any intention of going. To all intents and purposes, Bridget has dropped out of my life."
"Any one would imagine," said Carrissima, "that she had done something to annoy you."
"Oh dear, no," was the answer. "I am simply indifferent." Before she had time to explain that she had promised to go to Golfney Place the following afternoon, he added, "By the bye, your fears have not been realized so far. I am immensely glad of that."
"Ah, yes," said Carrissima; "after Bridget's curious confidences, I suppose you expected something—something horrid to occur quite soon!"