tain.

It required, however, considerable courage to follow Bridget's advice
and send Mark a letter, and when at last she succeeded in silencing her
doubts, she scarcely knew what to say to him. Hitherto, in all her
dealings with Mark, she had felt uncertain (to say the least) about his
regard. Now, if Bridget were to be credited, there remained no room
for disbelief. Mark loved her! In spite of that compromising
situation which she had witnessed, he loved her.

If this were the case, nothing else seemed to be of any importance.
Carrissima was prepared to condone an offence, the importance of which,
she supposed, she had exaggerated; and perhaps if she were to make
herself more abject, he would grasp the olive branch. As Bridget
suggested, what did it matter so that they came together at last?
Granting his love, as there could be no doubt about her own, it would
be sheer foolishness to allow the present unfortunate estrangement to
continue.

So she took a pen presently, and after profound consideration succeeded
in writing the few necessary words--

"MY DEAR MARK,

"Will you be magnanimous and spare me a few minutes after dinner this
evening?

"Yours very sincerely,

"CARRISSIMA."

The mountain in labour having brought forth a mouse, Carrissima put on
her hat and set out, intending personally to post the letter. There
would be ample time. He would receive it before seven o'clock, and, it
was to be hoped, reach Grandison Square soon after nine. She
determined to be on the watch for his arrival, in order to take him to
some unoccupied room. Well, what then? she wondered, as she drew near
the pillar-box. What could she do but repeat the assurance already
given that she had never really believed what she told Sybil
Clynesworth--or at the worst only for a few seconds.

Bridget, presumably, expected her to employ some feminine wiles to
bring Mark to a more amenable condition, but there Carrissima drew the
line. Within reach of the pillar-box, she took the letter in both
hands, tore it into a dozen pieces and scattered them to the winds.

She would not, after all, make any definite appointment. If Mark loved
her he was not likely to change, and everything must eventually come
right; if he did not, why, in that case she could not do aught to
improve the existing condition of things, even if she would. Time
might, unassisted, enable him to judge her more leniently. If she did
not meet him before she