emendously
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 i