"I love looking at photographs," said Bridget, putting that of Colonel Faversham back in its place. "I hope you don't mind—whose is this?" she inquired, taking up another frame.
"Oh, that is Jimmy!" cried Carrissima.
"Why do you laugh?" said Bridget.
"I really don't quite know. There's nothing very comical in his appearance, is there? Only somehow one does laugh about him."
"I think," said Bridget, "he is one of the pleasantest-looking men I have ever seen."
"Yes, Jimmy has a nice face," returned Carrissima.
"Of course," Bridget continued, with her eyes still on the photograph, "it isn't so distinctly handsome as Mark's."
"Perhaps not," was the answer; "I thought you had seen him while we were at Crowborough. Mr. Clynesworth. Although his name is Rupert everybody has called him Jimmy since his school days."
"I remember Miss Clynesworth," suggested Bridget.
"His sister—or, rather, his half-sister. She might be his mother by the way she tries to look after him."