ever
you hear such a thing?"

"He never loved who loved not at first sight," cried Carrissima, with a
laugh.

"Of course, my dear, Jimmy was only joking," said Sybil.

"I scarcely imagined he had made up his mind so rapidly," answered
Carrissima, "although Bridget is obviously quite irresistible. What an
admirable solution! How I wish it might come to pass!"

"Oh, but, Carrissima!"

"It's no use," she said. "Self-preservation is the first law of
nature, and if she doesn't marry Jimmy she will very likely marry my
father."

"Carrissima!" cried Sybil in the tone of one severely shocked.

"I am perfectly serious," was the reply.

"But a man of the colonel's age! And what a horrid--horrid person she
must be!"

"Oh dear, no," said Carrissima. "You will see what she is. If only
Jimmy effects a diversion I shall feel grateful as long as I live."

The net result of the interview with Carrissima was that Sybil did an
extremely unusual thing. Although Jimmy strongly urged her to go to
Golfney Place, she positively refused to gratify him.

"Jimmy, I am very, very sorry," she insisted, "but I couldn't possibly
go. Miss Rosser really doesn't seem to be quite respectable."

"That generally signifies something rather piquant, you know," said
Jimmy in his equable way. "Just think of the things and the people we
do respect--in your delightful sense. If we could only see through
their skins; though of course they're far too thick. Anyhow, if you
won't go now, you will later on, and meantime," he added, "you throw me
on my own resources."

The consequence of Sybil's refusal was that Jimmy passed the end of
Golfney Place several times a day and presently met with a reward. It
was about half-past eleven one sunny morning that he saw Bridget come
forth from her door, and without a glance in his direction, turn
towards the further end of the street. Quickening his pace, he at once
set out in pursuit. Walking behind her, he saw the light on her
chestnut-coloured hair, saw that she knew (rare accomplishment) how to
walk, and a few moments later, still a foot or two in the rear, he
exclaimed--

"Good-morning, Miss Rosser."

"Oh, good-morning, Mr. Clynesworth," she answered, without stopping.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To my dressmaker's in Dover Street!"

"May I go with you----"

"That sounds," cried Bridget gaily, "like the beginning of a nursery
rhyme."

"There never was a prettier maid," he a