need not sit up any longer, she threw off her long cloak, leaned back
in an easy-chair right in front of the grate, crossed her feet on the
fender, and clasped her miniature waist.

Remembering Bridget Rosser, with her vivid chestnut-coloured hair, her
somewhat pale skin, her wonderful eyes (as Mark quite justifiably
described them), her face, which was extraordinarily attractive,
although it might not contain one perfect feature, Carrissima could not
help feeling that there might be serious cause for jealousy.

Of course, it was evident that Mark had not expected to find her at
Charteris Street; he had believed she was still at Church Stretton with
Colonel Faversham, and perhaps, if he had been aware of her presence in
London, Lawrence might not have had to wait for his dinner. Moreover,
Mark Driver was precisely the kind of man who would go out of his way
to do any woman a good turn--pretty or plain; but still, after making
every allowance, the fact remained that Carrissima was jealous.

It had for long been an open question (in her own mind at least)
whether he cared for her or not. If he did, she would have liked to
know why he had waited so long before putting his fate to the touch,
although the matter was again complicated by the sensitiveness of
Mark's disposition.

Carrissima's modest fortune (derived from her mother), which would have
proved a temptation to many men, might be an obstacle where he was
concerned. The fact that it was just what he required at the beginning
of his career might easily be conceived as holding him back. Not that
she imagined that, in favourable circumstances, it would be regarded as
a perpetual barrier; only Mark might prefer to wait until he had