It was one afternoon towards the end of April, and Carrissima
congratulated herself that she had made up her mind to spend it
indoors, although the trees in the parks were in fresh green leaf, and
London was looking its brightest and best. There had been, however, a
few showers at luncheon-time, and Colonel Faversham had set out through
one afterwards "to his club."

Carrissima, of course, knew very well that he was bound for Golfney
Place, and for her own part, she determined to stay at home until
tea-time, with the consequence that she saw Mark about half-past four.

He entered the room looking as handsome, as alert and energetic as
ever; a man, you felt certain, who would succeed in making his way in
the world, as indeed he fully intended to do.

"When did you get back?" asked Carrissima, remembering that her welcome
must not be too cordial.

"Late yesterday afternoon," he answered.

"Have you had a good time?"

"Oh, ripping!" he continued. "Old Wentworth knows his Paris, and we
didn't waste many hours."

Six months ago it would not have been in the least surprising that he
should pay her a visit directly he returned, but now she was wondering
whether he had already seen Bridget Rosser.

"You're not staying in Charteris Street?" she asked.