bt be made in due season.

Not wishing to open Carrissima's eyes unnecessarily soon, Colonel
Faversham gave instructions for the bag to be sent to Number 5, Golfney
Place, before half-past ten on Wednesday morning, and he felt deeply
disappointed when Bridget gently but firmly refused to accept it.

Incongruously enough, she was persuaded nevertheless to accompany him
to Richmond, and the drive at close quarters in the taxi-cab, the
_tete-a-tete_ meal, the bottle of champagne which Bridget scarcely
tasted, had, collectively and separately, inflamed Colonel Faversham to
the sticking-point. When they reached Golfney Place at half-past five,
another disappointment lay in store for him, inasmuch as she refused to
allow him to enter the house--she felt too tired after the drive! He
could come to-morrow, and, meantime, he might send for the dressing-bag.

She could be so tantalizing now and then, that it was easy to believe
she was scoffing at him. During the day she had more than once dragged
Mark's name into the conversation, and even Carrissima did not feel
more curious respecting their precise relationship than her father.

Notwithstanding his anxiety concerning the critic on his hearth, and
the more exacerbating one in Charteris Street, Colonel Faversham had
reached the end of his tether. This delightful girl, with her charming
ingenuousness, her high spirits, might actually become his wife in the
course of a few months.

A few months! She might be prevailed upon to marry him within the next
few weeks. What cause could there possibly be for delay? Surely he
was entitled to please himself! Absurd to imagine that a man of his
age must regulate his life to please a slip of a girl like Carrissima,
or a solemn young puritan like Lawrence!

When Colonel Faversham arrived at Golfney Place on Thursday morning,
Bridget was wearing a new frock; quite light, almost white, in fact,
and setting off her slender figure to the most admirable advantage.
How many new frocks he had seen her wearing, Colonel Faversham found it
difficult to count. The crocodile-hide dressing-bag stood ominously on
the table, and, by way of a greeting, she reminded him that he had been
asked to send for it.

"Confound the bag!" he retorted. "If you won't keep the thing, pitch
it in the dusthole. Bridget," he continued, standing close by her
side, "I want you to accept all I have in the world and myself into the
bargain. I am not going to bl