"Mrs. Rosser died shortly after we left Crowborough," was the answer.
"Then the house was given up. Bridget wandered about Europe with her
father until his own death a little less than a year ago."

"Then," demanded Lawrence, "whom does she live with?"

"Oh, she's quite on her own."

"What is her age, for goodness' sake?"

"Upon my word, I don't know for certain," said Mark. "I couldn't very
well inquire. I should say she's about the same age as Carrissima."

"As a matter of prosaic fact," answered Carrissima, forcing a smile,
although she did not feel very cheerful at the moment, "she is a few
months older."

"Well," Lawrence persisted, "after picking up the purse at the Old
Masters', what was the next move in the game?"

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!"