Colonel Faversham, without being a bigoted Sabbatarian, liked to make a difference between Sunday and the other six days. He always expected a rather more elaborate dinner and never failed to go to sleep after luncheon. He allowed himself an extra cigar or two, and, in short, deprecated anything which threatened to disturb his peace.
During the last few days his mind, chiefly owing to lapse of time, had been easier concerning Bridget. Without being demonstratively affectionate, she appeared as cheerful as ever, so that he reached Number 5, Golfney Place at half-past three this afternoon with every hope of spending an agreeable hour or two in her presence.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed, before he had been many minutes in the room, "wild flowers!"
"I think they must be," said Bridget, with a laugh.
"They look fresh!"
"They ought to be," she answered. "They were growing an hour or two ago."
"In the country?" suggested the colonel.
"Wouldn't it be lovely if one could pick primroses and marsh marigolds in London!" said Bridget.
"Bridget," cried Colonel Faversham, "I believe you take a delight in teasing me. I suppose the people of the house gave them to you!"
"How much I should like to have a motor-car," she said suddenly.