Enter Bridget. Thomas Cobb
and from the middle of this Bridget rose.
She was obviously formed to play havoc with the hearts of men, and although she could scarcely be described as beautiful, she was no doubt marvellously seductive. If her features were not regular, the ensemble was delightful, even in the estimation of one who felt disposed to criticize. Her face would have run to a point at the chin if this had not been blunted by an entrancing dimple. Bridget's vivid chestnut-coloured hair grew low over a somewhat wide forehead, while her eyes were dark and curiously expressive.
Without being conspicuously tall, she had the advantage of her guest by several inches, although her figure might be less developed, or perhaps it looked smaller because of her additional inches. She obviously employed an excellent dressmaker, and if she had hitherto been compelled to hide her light under a bushel, she had surely only to be seen to conquer. The important question was: Had she already succeeded in conquering Mark Driver?
For an instant she stood gazing at Carrissima as if unable to believe either her ears or her eyes; then with a slow, gliding movement, in contrast with the other's more rapid, impulsive manner, she came forward holding out both hands.
"Why, it's Carrissima, after all these many, many years!" she exclaimed, and without a moment's hesitation kissed her cheek, just as she had done at parting that long time ago. "How nice of you to come," she continued, still retaining one of her guest's hands, and leading her to the sofa. "I suppose it was Mark who asked you," she said, as they both sat down.
"He didn't exactly ask me," returned Carrissima. "Of course I shouldn't have known you were in London but for him. I met him at my brother's the other evening."
"Ah, that was the night he arrived so late for dinner," said Bridget.
"Did he get into the most dreadful scrape?"
"Anyhow," was the answer, "I suppose he was able to start to Paris the next morning, as I haven't heard to the contrary."
"Oh yes," cried Bridget, "if he hadn't gone I should have seen him here. Isn't it tiresome of him!"
"What?" asked Carrissima.
"No sooner coming back to London than off he must go the very next day. He came to see me directly he returned from Yorkshire," Bridget explained, "and—well, I happened to have a fit of the miserables. I assure you I am not often taken that way. Mark was tremendously nice—he always is, isn't he? He insisted that I should go out to dinner and what could I do?"
"Why, nothing but go," replied Carrissima, with the utmost cheerfulness.
"Still," said Bridget, "he seemed quite worried about his brother-in-law. I mustn't tell tales out of school, and Mr. Faversham is your brother, isn't he? Won't you unfasten those furs," she suggested. "You must find them rather warm to-day, although I'm certain I should have put them on in spite of the temperature if they were mine. Perfectly lovely! Do let me help you!"
She turned on the wide sofa to face Carrissima and deftly unhooked the furs, taking the end of the stole in her hands and pressing it against her cheek. When the butler brought in the tea-tray, Bridget asked him to move a small table on to the hearthrug, and as soon as he left the room again she began to talk while pouring out the tea.
"How often," she cried, "I have wondered whether I should ever see you again during this earthly pilgrimage. Sugar?" she asked. "You remember our dear old house and the delightful garden! Of course my darling mother's illness had begun before you came to Crowborough. Poor father was never really the same after her death."
She paused, holding a cup and saucer in her hand, but turning her eyes towards the window. Carrissima saw that they were moist when Bridget began again.
"We gave up the house because he couldn't rest long in any one place, and yet he could never write at his best moving about. You know, Carrissima, it was really a tragedy. He took such pains—writing and re-writing, especially after he and I were left alone; but he knew he wasn't reaching his own standard. He never said a word, but of course I saw he was worrying himself to death. I have copies of all his novels; they are over on that shelf," she said, turning towards a pair of hanging shelves at the farther end of the room. "And there are portfolios full of press cuttings. I used to cut them out and paste them in for him. It seems like a dream to look back. You know I used to think of you as ever so much older than myself, because you seemed to be the mistress of the house."
"Well," answered Carrissima, "I am not many months younger."
"Ah! but now I regard you as quite a child in comparison."
"That doesn't prevent me from being twenty-two," said Carrissima.
"No, of course not, but the actual years are nothing. It's all that's crowded into them—oh dear! I have had such experiences! During the last few months of poor father's life we lived in an appartement in Paris, and afterwards I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I kept it on for myself. I used to go to Ronseau's studio—you've heard of Ronseau?—till he convinced me it wasn't of the slightest use to persevere. Then I came to London and soon began to wish I hadn't. Because I did know ever so many people in Paris, but over here I can't tell you how deadly dull it was until I met Mark."
"You must come and see me as soon as you can," suggested Carrissima.
"Oh dear, yes," said Bridget. "Do let me fasten your furs!" she added, as Carrissima rose from the sofa. "I shall return your visit as early as if you were a royal personage. I shall love to come."
"Number 13, Grandison Square," said Carrissima. "It is not very far, and I am quite alone just now. I don't know whether you remember my father——"
"Very indistinctly," answered Bridget.
"He is away at Church Stretton playing golf."
"Then you are in the same unprotected condition as I am," suggested
Bridget.
"Oh well, I have the advantage of a peculiarly attentive brother. Lawrence has the firm and unalterable opinion that no woman under forty is capable of looking after herself. During my father's absence he generally pays me a visit once every twenty-four hours, either on his way home from the Temple or after dinner. I shall expect you before many days," said Carrissima, and Bridget insisted on accompanying her down to the hall.
CHAPTER IV
BRIDGET AT GRANDISON SQUARE
Carrissima walked back to Grandison Square, feeling not a whit less jealous than she had set out. There seemed, it is true, something about Bridget Rosser to which she was scarcely accustomed in her own personal friends; something difficult to describe. It might be due to an innate ingenuousness, or, in part, to the quasi-Bohemian life she had probably lived during the last few years abroad.
There seemed to be an absence of reticence; a kind of natural freedom which assuredly had a charm of its own, although some persons might not approve of it—Lawrence, for one!
He came to Grandison Square the same evening, entering the drawing-room still wearing his heavy overcoat.
"A bitter wind has sprung up," he said, standing close to the fire.
"What a pity you took the trouble to turn out in it," suggested
Carrissima, always rather inclined to resent his superintendence.
"What have you been doing all day?" he asked. "You haven't given
Phoebe a look in."
"I went to Golfney Place this afternoon," was the answer.
"Golfney Place——"
"To renew my acquaintance with Bridget," said Carrissima.
"Quite unnecessary!" retorted Lawrence.
"Far better if you had