settled down to the more serious practice of the profession, about
which no man could be keener. The truth was that Carrissima was prone
to search for a variety of explanations for his backwardness, all more
or less fantastic.

The immediate question was: Should she take any notice of Bridget
Rosser, or leave her to her own devices?

In the ordinary course of things, Carrissima would scarcely have
hesitated. If she had been told by anybody else that Bridget was
living alone in London, doubtless she would have lost very little time
in finding her way to Number 5, Golfney Place. She invariably strove
to act in every particular as if she were entirely disinterested,
although she was far from being so. She knew that her life's happiness
depended solely on Mark!

Five years ago Bridget had been barely eighteen; she had looked even
younger than Carrissima: a slim, graceful girl, apparently just fresh
from the school-room. She lived in a delightful, old-fashioned house
with a rambling garden, situated about a quarter of a mile from that
which Colonel Faversham had rented furnished for the summer because of
its proximity to the golf-course.

His wife had died twelve months earlier, and Carrissima, in her
eighteenth year, proved an inexperienced hostess to the relays of
visitors, who included, amongst others, Mark Driver (at that time a
medical student), his sister Phoebe and Miss Sybil Clynesworth. At the
club-house Colonel Faversham met David Rosser and Mrs. Rosser, already
an invalid, having been wheeled over in her bath-chair to make
Carrissima's acquaintance; there were henceforth frequent journeyings