"You mustn't let me
take you up-stairs again."

"Stairs are nothing to me," he said. "I could climb a mountain. I
have climbed many a one before to-day, and I hope I shall again. What
delightful weather!" he continued, as they reached the drawing-room.
"It makes one feel quite--quite capable of anything."

She sat down, while the colonel talked about Crowborough and David
Rosser; remembering whose vocation, he realized the desirability of
giving the conversation a bookish turn. While he was remarking upon
some of the most recent publications--quoted from advertisements, for
he seldom opened a book--Knight and a small footman brought in the tea
equipage. Colonel Faversham invited Bridget to officiate, and told
himself how delectable she looked as, half-shyly, she passed his cup
and saucer.

"You know, Colonel Faversham," she said, "I cannot help feeling
immensely guilty."

"A libel," he protested. "I have never seen a more transparently
innocent face in the whole course of my life."

"Still, I am certain I have kept you from going to your club or
somewhere. Of course I am duly grateful. Carrissima said I might come
here whenever I felt too lonely."

"My dear Miss Rosser," said Colonel Faversham, "I am afraid it must be
a rather dull life you're leading. But it will be entirely your own
fault if ever you find yourself bored in future. Carrissima has no end
of friends, and hers shall be yours. Then there's my daughter-in-law!
As for books, my library was left to me by an uncle who had nothing
better to do than to read from morning till night. You must allow me
to send you a suitable selection."

When Carrissima came home, a little later, she raised her eyebrows on
seeing Bridget Rosser presiding at the tea-table, with Colonel
Faversham seated rather close by her side. As he began to explain his
good fortune in meeting the visitor at the door, Carrissima told
herself that she knew exactly how things would turn out!

The truth was that Colonel Faversham had always been somewhat
dangerously susceptible. Lawrence could never feel certain that his
father was too old to think of marrying again. Carrissima knew that
for the next few days he would talk of nobody but Bridget; that he
would lend her books, and perhaps even express a wish to invite her to
dine. He would on every opportunity pay her extravagant compliments
and make himself generally ridiculous; then he would begin to forget
her existence an