BRIDGET
To put the matter plainly, Carrissima was jealous.
It was half-past eleven when she reached her father's house at Number
13, Grandison Square, S.W., and she felt pleased to find that the fire
was still alight in the drawing-room. Having told the butler that he
need not sit up any longer, she threw off her long cloak, leaned back
in an easy-chair right in front of the grate, crossed her feet on the
fender, and clasped her miniature waist.
Remembering Bridget Rosser, with her vivid chestnut-coloured hair, her
somewhat pale skin, her wonderful eyes (as Mark quite justifiably
described them), her face, which was extraordinarily attractive,
although it might not contain one perfect feature, Carrissima could not
help feeling that there might be serious cause for jealousy.
Of course, it was evident that Mark had not expected to find her at
Charteris Street; he had believed she was still at Church Stretton with
Colonel Faversham, and perhaps, if he had been aware of her presence in
London, Lawrence might not have had to wait for his dinner. Moreover,
Mark Driver was precisely the kind of man who would go out of his way
to do any woman a good turn--pretty or plain; but still, after making
every allowance, the fact remained that Carrissima was jealous.
It had for long been an open question (in her own mind at least)
whether he cared for her or not. If he did, she would have liked to
know why he had waited so long before putting his fate to the touch,
although the matter was again complicated by the sensitiveness of
Mark's disposition.
Carrissima's modest fortune (derived from her mother), which would have
proved a temptation to many men, might be an obstacle where he was
concerned. The fact that it was just what he required at the beginning
of his career might easily be conceived as holding him back. Not that
she imagined that, in favourable circumstances, it would be regarded as
a perpetual barrier; only Mark might prefer to wait until he had
settled down to the more serious practice of the profession, about
which no man could be keener. The truth was that Carrissima was prone
to search for a variety of explanations for his backwardness, all more
or less fantastic.
The immediate question was: Should she take any notice of Bridget
Rosser, or leave her to her own devices?
In the ordinary course of things, Carrissima would scarcely have
hesitated. If she had been told by anybody else that Bridget was
living alone in London, doubtless she would have lost very little time
in finding her way to Number 5, Golfney Place. She invariably strove
to act in every particular as if she were entirely disinterested,
although she was far from being so. She knew that her life's happiness
depended solely on Mark!
Five years ago Bridget had been barely eighteen; she had looked even
younger than Carrissima: a slim, graceful girl, apparently just fresh
from the school-room. She lived in a delightful, old-fashioned house
with a rambling garden, situated about a quarter of a mile from that
which Colonel Faversham had rented furnished for the summer because of
its proximity to the golf-course.
His wife had died twelve months earlier, and Carrissima, in her
eighteenth year, proved an inexperienced hostess to the relays of
visitors, who included, amongst others, Mark Driver (at that time a
medical student), his sister Phoebe and Miss Sybil Clynesworth. At the
club-house Colonel Faversham met David Rosser and Mrs. Rosser, already
an invalid, having been wheeled over in her bath-chair to make
Carrissima's acquaintance; there were henceforth frequent journeyings
on bicycles between the two houses, until the time arrived for the
Favershams' return to London.
One or two letters had been exchanged between Carrissima and Bridget,
who was invited to stay in Grandison Square; but the visit was
prevented by Mrs. Rosser's increasing illness, and so the intercourse
between the two families fell off.
Carrissima had not seen Bridget since their parting at the railway
station five years ago. Ought she to go and see her now? If she
refrained, might not people suspect some hidden motive? Her brother
Lawrence, for instance, who was apt to search for mysterious springs of
action, and who must not on any account be allowed to hit upon the true
one.
No doubt Carrissima was sensitive and self-conscious; moreover, she was
jealous. She was, however, extremely curious also--curious to see for
herself how Bridget had developed--and in the end she made up her mind
to go to Golfney Place. She looked very small and bright when, a few
days later, she set forth, wearing the new set of furs, which were
certainly her most becoming apparel. She had hesitated whether the
March afternoon was really cold enough to justify their use, and before
reaching her destination came to the conclusion that it was not.
But, regarding Bridget as possibly a rival, she wished to make her
bravest show. With her dark, wide-brimmed hat, her remarkably fair
hair, her fresh, clear complexion and her diminutive but piquantly
womanly figure, she assuredly need not fear any ordinary comparison.
Golfney Place is a secluded thoroughfare, containing a few intensely
respectable-looking shops, an estate-agent's office, a church and some
superior lodging-houses. These, like the church, were all painted
white, and, indeed, some of them were at present receiving their fresh
spring coats.
The door of Number 5 was opened by a middle-aged man, Mr. Miller, the
proprietor of the house, and indistinguishable in appearance from an
ordinary butler.
"Miss Rosser?" said Carrissima, and, taking her up-stairs, he stopped
to ask her name on the first landing.
"Miss Faversham," he announced, as she walked into the drawing-room, a
large, lofty room with three windows, rather ornately furnished, and
reminding Carrissima of various scenes on the stage. Before the
fireplace stood a sofa covered with cretonne of a florid pattern, and
from the middle of this Bridget rose.
She was obviously formed to play havoc with the hearts of men, and
although she could scarcely be described as beautiful, she was no doubt
marvellously seductive. If her features were not regular, the ensemble
was delightful, even in the estimation of one who felt disposed to
criticize. Her face would have run to a point at the chin if this had
not been blunted by an entrancing dimple. Bridget's vivid
chestnut-coloured hair grew low over a somewhat wide forehead, while
her eyes were dark and curiously expressive.
Without being conspicuously tall, she had the advantage of her guest by
several inches, although her figure might be less developed, or perhaps
it looked smaller because of her additional inches. She obviously
employed an excellent dressmaker, and if she had hitherto been
compelled to hide her light under a bushel, she had surely only to be
seen to conquer. The important question was: Had she already succeeded
in conquering Mark Driver?
For an instant she stood gazing at Carrissima as if unable to believe
either her ears or her eyes; then with a slow, gliding movement, in
contrast with the other's more rapid, impulsive manner, she came
forward holding out both hands.
"Why, it's Carrissima, after all these many, many years!" she
exclaimed, and without a moment's hesitation kissed her cheek, just as
she had done at parting that long time ago. "How nice of you to come,"
she continued, still retaining one of her guest's hands, and leading
her to the sofa. "I suppose it was Mark who asked you," she said, as
they both sat down.
"He didn't exactly ask me," returned Carrissima. "Of course I
shouldn't have known you were in London but for him. I met him at my
brother's the other evening."
"Ah, that was the night he arrived so late for dinner," said Bridget.
"Did he get into the most dreadful scrape?"
"Anyhow," was the answer, "I suppose he was able to start to Paris the
next morning, as I haven't heard to the contrary."
"Oh yes," cried Bridget, "if he hadn't gone I should have seen him
here. Isn't it tiresome of him!"
"What?" asked Carrissima.
"No sooner coming back to London than off he must go the very next day.
He came to see me directly he returned from Yorkshire," Bridget
explained, "and--well, I happened to have a fit of the miserables. I
assure you I am not often taken that way. Mark was tremendously
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 into them--oh dear! I have had such experiences! During the
last few months of poor father's life we lived in an _appartement_ in
Paris, and afterwards I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I
kept it on for myself. I used to go to Ronseau's studio--you've heard
of Ronseau?--till he convinced me it wasn't of the slightest use to
persevere. Then I came to London and soon began to wish I hadn't.
Because I did know ever so many people in Paris, but over here I can't
tell you how deadly dull it was until I met Mark."
"You must come and see me as soon as you can," suggested Carrissima.
"Oh dear, yes," said Bridget. "Do let me fasten your furs!" she added,
as Carrissima rose from the sofa. "I shall return your visit as early
as if you were a royal personage. I shall love to come."
"Number 13, Grandison Square," said Carrissima. "It is not very far,
and I am quite alone just now. I don't know whether you remember my
father----"
"Very indistinctly," answered Bridget.
"He is away at Church Stretton playing golf."
"Then you are in the same unprotected condition as I am," suggested
Bridget.
"Oh well, I have the advantage of a peculiarly attentive brother.
Lawrence has the firm and unalterable opinion that no woman under forty
is capable of looking after herself. During my father's absence he
generally pays me a visit once every twenty-four hours, either on his
way home from the Temple or after dinner. I shall expect you before
many days," said Carrissima, and Bridget insisted on accompanying her
down to the hall.