“Shall I?” he answered, with a laugh.  “Don’t take too much for granted.  I may get a snack at the club.  Anyhow, you had better not wait.”

She understood that he did not intend to return and wondered how she should dispose of her silver card-case.  In no event would she go near Golfney Place that day!  At about noon, however, it arrived from Donaldson’s in a cardboard box, and really seemed too pretty to be wasted.  There, too, were Bridget’s initials, neatly engraved on its face, and, perhaps, after all, Colonel Faversham was reckoning without his guest.  Miss Rosser might refuse to accept his present, whatever it might be—­Carrissima felt very curious to know!  She might decline to go out with him, and then her birthday would be spent in utter loneliness.  Carrissima pictured her with melancholy reminiscences of her father and mother.  Because whatever the girl’s faults might be, she was certainly not lacking in natural affection.  Surely some allowances ought to be made for the circumstances of the case.  Carrissima was excellent at making allowances for people!  She was one of those tiresome, inconsistent young women who remain blind to the teachings of reason and experience, and ever find some remnants of good in the rag-bags of humanity.

Bridget had lost her mother when she was eighteen!  She had knocked about with her father for several years since.  Of course she ought not to have encouraged Mark’s visits night after night, as doubtless she had done; but, then, she may have had the intelligence to see that Mark was a man in a thousand—­in a thousand!  Mark was a man in a million!

In the end Carrissima left Grandison Square at a few minutes before four o’clock that afternoon, and having rung the bell at Number 5, Golfney Place, she was crushed to hear from Miller that Bridget had been out since a quarter to twelve.

“Oh!” said Carrissima, ashamed of her own artfulness, “I suppose she went with Colonel Faversham?”

“Yes,” returned Miller.

“Do you know where they have gone?” asked Carrissima.

“Colonel Faversham told the chauffeur to drive to Richmond.”

“To Richmond—­thank you,” said Carrissima.  “I will come another day.”  Then she turned away with the card-case still in her hand and a heavier weight at her heart.  She wished she had never gone to Crowborough that summer five years ago!  Very devoutly she wished that Mark Driver had not visited the Old Masters’ Exhibition.  She had not walked far on her way home when she saw Jimmy Clynesworth coming towards her, and thought it rather early in the year for him to be wearing a straw hat in London.

Of course he stopped to speak.  Jimmy was not the man to allow any one he knew to pass by, although for once in a way Carrissima would sooner have avoided the encounter.

“Have you heard from Sybil lately?” she asked.

“Oh yes, she’s still with old Lady Ramsbottom—­enjoying herself to the top of her bent, no doubt!  You may be certain Sybil’s having a rattling good time!  She always revels in illness.  Goodness knows when I shall see her again.  Where are you bound for?” asked Jimmy, as Carrissima showed signs of impatience.