By eleven o'clock he was waiting in the sitting-room at Number 5, Golfney Place. Until her appearance he walked restlessly from the fireplace to the farthest window, stopping to look at the uninviting oleographs on the wall, inspecting the row of David Rosser's novels which filled the hanging shelf.
Colonel Faversham was in an unstable mood this morning. Why couldn't
Bridget come? She must know by this time that he detested waiting!
Every other minute he glanced at the door, and at last when she entered
breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"What a very early bird!" she cried, coming towards him in her graceful, unhurried way.
"I want to catch the—— No, no," he said, "that won't do! You didn't tell me you had seen Mark Driver!" he added, holding her hand.
"Didn't I?" was the casual answer. "But why should I? You surely don't imagine for a moment I tell you everything! How deeply astonished you would be! What an amusing disillusionment!"
"Why should it be?" he demanded. "What have you to be ashamed of?"
"Ever so much," said Bridget. "So many men would like to shut us up in harems, wouldn't they?"
"It depends on the woman," returned the colonel.
"I assure you it would never answer in my case," she exclaimed.
"Neither bolts nor bars would keep me in."
"My dear," he said, "you drive me half out of my mind. You give me no peace."