"Oh, I—I don't know," she answered, trifling with some trimming on her dress.
"Anyhow," suggested Mark, looking round the large room, "you seem to have plenty of flowers."
They were standing in every available space: in pots, in bowls, in vases; the air of the room was laden with their scent.
"They all came from Colonel Faversham," said Bridget, more soberly than usual. "Have you seen Carrissima by any chance?"
"This afternoon," returned Mark.
"Then you know she has seen me. I think she is perfectly sweet, Mark! She came here a few days after you went away, and asked me to go to Grandison Square. She gave me leave to look her up as often as I liked. I took her at her word. Oh, I assure you I feel very much at home there." Bridget lowered her eyes, paused a moment, then raised them again to Mark's face. "The question is," she said slowly, as if she were carefully choosing her words, "whether I shall make it my home—for good, you understand. I have been longing for you to come so that I might—that I might ask your advice."
"What about?" demanded Mark, somewhat taken aback by her outspokenness.
"Oh, how dense you must be if you can't really guess," she said.
"I don't think I shall try," was the answer.
"Oh well, if you make me say it! Colonel Faversham wants me to marry him. Now the murder is out, isn't it?"