Enter Bridget

Carrissima Faversham, in spite of a manifestly unfavourable bias, strove to hold the balance even. It was her brother Lawrence who took the most adverse view; insisting that

ng towards the end of March, when he had accepted an invitation

ant party, instead of merely to a quiet dinner with her brother and his wife; but then, expecting

at she had already much to be thankful for. Suppose, for example, that her eyebrows had been as

n the air as if he were doing his best to appear taller. Hearing the street door bell ring, Mrs. Lawrence Faversham waylaid

sister presently sailed into the drawing-room. "T

hether he was sitting down or standing up, there always seeme

ette, several inches taller than her husband and seven years younger. "I wan

us," answered Lawrence, "to

ed, "he is off to Par

would come soon if he's comin

ther hand, her three years' experience of married life had taught her that it was undesirable to keep Lawrence waiting. When half-past eight struck, however, she could restr

ess, it ended without any sign of the absentee, and at last she felt bound to return to the drawi

nding before the fire, "you never

ma, "the simple fact of the mat

t have run to sixpence for a telegram. For a steady-g

consistent!" excl

okedly without exceeding the limit. Although there are things you can swear Mar

ened and Mark Driver entered the room: tall, broad-shouldered, wit

a southeastern suburb. Mark remained there two years and left at Christmas; after spending a few weeks idly in London he went to take charge of Doctor Bunbury's pract

e for dinner?" demanded Pho

on on seeing his face again. Never, perhaps, during their long acquaintance, had they been so many months apart; but while Mar

rk. "Phoebe told me in her letter last week that yo

I never had the least intention to liv

prise," explained Phoebe, "by comi

" said Lawrence, "why in the world yo

" cried Mark, while Carrissima sat with her eyes avert

n in London. If she had waited for Colonel Faversham's return to Grandison Square she must, obviously, have missed Mark Driver again. One of the ch

, "we haven't heard why yo

ng," said Mark, at last shaking

half-a

explained, "I di

annoyance, "if you could go to Belloni's, why in

ma. "You see, I went to Duffield's Hotel in Craven Street direct from the station. I

Mark's blue serge jacket. It no doubt suited his long, athletic figure admir

said Mark. "The fact

t at Duffield's, I thou

ac

on ear

nswered Mark, and once more he glanced