Phoebe was beginning to look rather anxious. She realized that Mark was growing impatient under Lawrence's cross-examination—he was supposed to be a skilful cross-examiner. It was occasionally a little difficult to keep the peace between these two men, who were her dearest; with the exception, perhaps, of the little man up-stairs.
"Bridget asked me to call," said Mark, "or I asked whether I might. I forget which, and what in the world does it matter?"
"Anyhow, you went!"
"Why, of course," was the answer.
"Is Miss Rosser—is she hard up, by any chance?" asked Lawrence.
"Good Lord, no!" exclaimed Mark. "My dear fellow, you've got quite a wrong impression. Hard up! You've only to see her."
"No doubt," suggested Lawrence, "you have had numerous opportunities."
"Oh well," said Mark, with a shrug, "she was on her lonesome and so was
I at the time. It was just before I went to Yorkshire, you know.
Carrissima was in Devonshire and I was kicking my heels in idleness at
Duffield's."
"It really was rather too bad," remarked Phoebe, "to go there this evening, considering that you were engaged to dine with us. Wasn't it, Carrissima?"
"Oh, it was shameful of you, Mark!" cried Carrissima, with a laugh.