"From the first time she came here! I suppose it began that evening you took me to Belloni's and kept her waiting for dinner. She would never have forgiven you. Mark, you have had a very, very narrow escape, and I am not certain you deserve to get off so easily. Because, don't you see, your treatment of me was the worse on account of your love for her."
He stood with a dejected expression on his face, and nothing more was said, for a few moments; then Bridget lightly rested a hand on his sleeve.
"Ah, well," she said, "I don't want to pile up the agony. Besides," she added, with an obvious effort, "I must be honest. I—I know I have given you reason to think meanly of me—vilely! But, don't you see, Mark, I—I have done with all that. I was never so anxious to make the best of myself. Not that it can conceivably matter."
Mark left the house in a chastened mood, wondering as he walked towards Burnham Crescent whether it were possible that she had fallen sincerely in love with Jimmy Clynesworth.
Was it likely that, after all her alarums and excursions, she had found a resting-place at last; that Carrissima was right when she insisted that Jimmy had ousted Colonel Faversham, but wrong when she imagined that Bridget's inducement was his larger income?
"I'm sorry to be so late," said Mark, when at last he entered
Carrissima's presence that evening.
"Oh, it isn't too late," she answered. "My father is out, and I am thankful for any one to relieve the monotony of things."
"The fact is," Mark explained, "I have a serious case near here. I was kept rather longer than I anticipated. My third visit to-day!"
"You must be making a rapid fortune," she cried gaily.
"Anyhow, it's a beginning," he said, adding, after a momentary pause, "I thought you might be surprised to see me at Golfney Place this afternoon."