"You must be dreaming!" he cried. "Carrissima could never have said anything of the kind."
"Anyhow," answered Jimmy, "I had it from Sybil an hour or so ago."
"But, my dear fellow," Mark expostulated, "it's simply inconceivable.
Carrissima knows that Bridget is nothing to me. To tell you the truth,
I had my own reasons for going out of my way to tell her so."
"You thought it necessary!" exclaimed Jimmy hastily.
"Oh well," said Mark, "I had fallen into the habit of going to Golfney Place rather often—that was before I went to Yorkshire—as far back as January. Carrissima had the idea that I admired the girl; so I did, for that matter—who wouldn't? But she could never have told Sybil that! She couldn't think anything of the sort without setting me down as a thorough-paced liar at the least."
"The odd part of it is," replied Jimmy, "that, according to Sybil,
Carrissima went in for particulars."
"Oh, let me hear them," said Mark, sitting down again.
He was just beginning to wonder. Was it possible that Carrissima had not dropped those flowers until after she had obtained a glimpse of the interior of Bridget's sitting-room? But, even so, she could never build such an abominable theory on that ludicrously insufficient evidence.
"Well," said Jimmy, "Carrissima insists that she saw you holding
Bridget in your arms—in the act of kissing her, to put it plainly."
This was a trying moment for Mark Driver. His face was crimson, and he would have given a great deal to be able to deny the too soft impeachment. As this was impossible, he lost his temper with Carrissima. Egoism was probably the prime factor in his present mood. He thought less of the excuse he had provided than of the painful circumstance that he had been cutting such a sorry figure in her eyes.