f
a regard for her. Still, it was obvious that he knew nothing more
about Bridget's movements than Jimmy or Colonel Faversham, who made a
valiant effort to change the subject by asking Mark whether he had
anything to do. As it happened, he was quite busy in his incipient
way. Sir Wilford Scones was seriously ill, and Randolph Messeter had
been called in for a consultation. There would probably be an
operation before the week ended. With the deliberate intention of
creating a favourable impression on the colonel, for whose daughter's
hand he was on the point of asking, Mark explained that Harefield's
practice was turning out far better than could have been expected. Now
and then he glanced significantly at Carrissima, who might have bidden
him "good-bye" very happily if Bridget Rosser had never entered her
life.

The next morning, at about twelve o'clock, Mark was in his
consulting-room when Jimmy was announced. Sybil had seen him leave
Upper Grosvenor Street with considerable misgiving, dreading lest his
interview with Mark should lead to trouble with Carrissima. She sighed
to remember his scepticism about Bridget's backsliding, and felt
confident that her brother was on his way to a very painful ordeal.

Jimmy, for his own part, had scarcely attempted to explain the
discrepancy between Sybil's story and his own ideal of Bridget.
Otherwise he might, perhaps, have come to the conclusion that
Carrissima had exaggerated, while Sybil had added a little more ghastly
colour. Sybil was sometimes given to that kind of trick.

That Mark was nothing to Bridget, never had been anything to her, Jimmy
felt certain. Driver had, indeed, dropped so completely out of her
life that it had not seemed worth while to take the trouble to go to
Weymouth Street in the hope of discovering a clue to her present
abiding-place. In any case, Jimmy reached the house this Monday
morning with a conviction that the scandalous fiction would at once be
exploded.

He came to the point at once.

"Rather an unpleasant business has brought me here, Mark," he
exclaimed. "To begin with, there's one thing I want to say.
Understand I believe the whole story is a _canard_."

"What story?" asked Mark, sitting in his swivel-chair on one side of
the leather-topped writing-table, while Jimmy stood a foot from the
other.

"Of course," Jimmy continued, "I know there's not a grain of truth in
it. Still when such an abominable accusation has been m