HOW IT HAPPENED
Mark Driver, on returning from the carpet-purchasing expedition, spent
the evening alone in his Weymouth Street rooms. He had not the least
intention to go near Golfney Place the following day, and every word he
had spoken during the walk home with Carrissima was precisely true.
He believed he could never live happily without her! As he sat smoking
his pipe that night, he smiled to remember Carrissima at the numerous
warehouses she had visited, and his thoughts wandered back over the
many years of their friendship.
Fortunate is the man who may count upon one sympathetic listener, too
deeply interested in his most ordinary experiences for boredom;
prepared to take his side (with or without justification) against the
world. So it had always been with Carrissima. Of any scheme, any
opinion, any ambition of his, she invariably tended to think the best.
If ever he accomplished anything more meritorious than usual, she was
always the first to be told; and when he happened to make a mistake,
she would be certain to make light of it.
At nine o'clock on Tuesday morning Mark had an appointment round the
corner in Beaumont Street. Mr. Randolph Messeter had a serious
operation to perform at a nursing home, and Mark was to administer the
anaesthetic. All had gone well; he had returned to Weymouth Street,
and was in the act of putting away his apparatus, when the telephone
bell rang.
He was wanted immediately by Lady Scones, in Burnham Crescent, S.W.
Sir Wilford Scones had been one of Doctor Harefield's most lucrative
patients, and naturally Mark felt gratified by the summons. A rapid
examination showed that the patient was seriously ill, and having
telephoned for a trained nurse and written a prescription, Mark left
the house, with a promise to come again during the afternoon.
On his way home after this second visit at about four o'clock, he
walked past the end of Golfney Place, and, a few yards farther on, saw
a motor-car in which was seated Bridget. As he lifted his hat, she
called to the chauffeur to stop, and seeing she was bent on getting
out, Mark could scarcely do less than open the door.
"What a stranger!" she cried, holding out her hand. "Weeks and weeks
since you came to see me! Anyhow, you must come now."
"Sorry," said Mark, "but, upon my word, I haven't much time to
spare----"
"You won't want much," she insisted. "It's no use, Mark! You've got
to be nice and reasonable, and you must just come in."
Taking out her purse, she paid the chauffeur--in gold, as Mark could
not help seeing, and, judging by the expression of the man's face,
adding an unusually liberal tip. Without any more excuses, Mark
accompanied her along the secluded street, and, on reaching Number 5,
Bridget admitted him with her latch-key.
"Where do you think I have been?" she asked, throwing off her cloak as
soon as she entered the sitting-room.
"I don't see how I can guess without something more to guide me," said
Mark, as she went to the looking-glass, drew some monstrous-headed pins
from her hat, and began to arrange her hair, patting it here, pulling
it there, while Mark admired its quantity and colour.
"Oh, how the wind has made my cheeks burn," she cried, pressing her
palms against them. "You know how one pines for woods and pastures at
this time of year!" she continued. "A kind of nostalgia! Directly
after breakfast I sent Miller for a motor-car from the garage in the
next street, and I went to Crowborough."
"Alone?" asked Mark.
"Didn't you see I was alone? That was the idea, you know. I hadn't
been inside the dear old house since father and I left it four years
ago. There was a board up. It was to be let again, so I rang the bell
and went all over it--round the garden, then to the churchyard. I
suppose you scarcely remember my mother, Mark?"
"Very indistinctly," he answered, seeing that she was in a somewhat
emotional mood.
But, to tell the truth, he was inclined to distrust appearances.
During his previous visit to Golfney Place, she had betrayed a certain
amount of feeling, with the deliberate object, he felt convinced, of
awakening his sympathy. On that occasion Bridget had told him about
her pecuniary difficulties, in order to induce him to anticipate
Colonel Faversham. At present he was wondering whether or not she had
a similar end in view.
"My mother," she said, drawing nearer, "was the best and sweetest woman
in the world. You are a clever man. Tell me how she came to have such
a daughter."
Surely the late Mrs. Rosser could scarcely have had a more seductive
child! At the moment, she stood almost touching Mark, her chin raised,
gazing up into his eyes. The sunlight fell upon her hair, and he
wished he could refrain from noticing her dimple.
"What is the matter with her?" he asked.
"Don't pretend you are so dense," said Bridget, resting a hand on his
shoulder. "I gave myself away the last time you were here, and of
course that's the reason you have never been near me since!"
She was almost resting against him, either carried away by her emotion
or deliberately trying to lead him on. Mark felt very little doubt as
to her purpose; he was convinced that she was bringing all her
batteries to bear upon him, and it is a painful task to chronicle a
good man's fall!
On the deplorable impulse of the moment, he put an arm around Bridget
and kissed her lips. Then two alarming things happened. As the door
opened and Miller announced "Miss Faversham," Mark saw from the
shocked, indignant expression on Bridget's face, that on the present
occasion, at least, he had misinterpreted her intention.
There seemed to be something ironic in the circumstances. Never had
Mark felt more enthusiastic in his devotion to Carrissima than he had
done when he entered Number 5, Golfney Place, this afternoon. Hitherto
when Bridget had in truth been tempting him, he had succeeded in
standing firm; but to-day, when she had been making a sincere appeal
for his help and sympathy, he had lost his self-control.
But for the fact that Bridget was unwilling, he might not have taken a
very serious view of his own behaviour, especially as it seemed obvious
that Carrissima had appeared on the scene a moment too late to witness
it. Even if she had not dropped her roses on the landing, her
demeanour must have sufficed to lull him into a false sense of
security. Nevertheless, he felt extremely uncomfortable until he left
the room; and indeed he perceived that even his presence at the house
might, after yesterday's protestations, require some explanation.
Hence his suggestion to go to Grandison Square after dinner the same
evening.
He wished devoutly that he had not made a fool of himself, without
considering that he had been guilty of anything worse than an act of
folly. It was not as if he were actually engaged to Carrissima,
although he was now in a mood to regret that he had ever bestowed a
thought on any other woman since his birth.
Mark had arranged to see Sir Wilford Scones again before night, and his
intention was to make his way from Burnham Crescent to Grandison
Square; but the question now arose whether he ought not to call upon
Bridget and make some sort of _amende_ for the incident of the
afternoon.
"Oh, Mark!" she exclaimed, the moment he entered her presence, and
before he found time to speak; "how could you do it! You, of all men!
You always seemed just the one to be trusted. What can there be about
me that you should imagine I was that--that sort of woman?"
"What was there about me, rather?" said Mark, looking rather
shamefaced. "Bridget, I can only tell you I am immensely sorry."
"Suppose," she cried, "that Carrissima had seen you! Suppose she had
not dropped her flowers! What would be the use of saying you were
sorry then? She has always been horridly jealous----"
"Carrissima jealous!"
"From the first time she came here! I suppose it began that evening
you took me to Belloni's and kept her waiting for dinner. She would
never have forgiven you. Mark, you have had a very, very narrow
escape, and I am not certain you deserve to get off so easily.
Because, don't you see, your treatment of me was the worse on account
of your love for her."
He stood with a dejected expression on his face, and nothing more was
said, for a few moments; then Bridget lightly rested a hand on his
sleeve.
"Ah, well," she said, "I don't want to pile up the agony. Besides,"
she added, with an obvious effort, "I must be honest. I--I know I have
given you reason to think meanly of me--vilely! But, don't you see,
Mark, I--I have done with all that. I was never so anxious to make the
best of myself. Not that it can conceivably matter."
Mark left the house in a chastened mood, wondering as he walked towards
Burnham Crescent whether it were possible that she had fallen sincerely
in love with Jimmy Clynesworth.
Was it likely that, after all her alarums and excursions, she had found
a resting-place at last; that Carrissima was right when she insisted
that Jimmy had ousted Colonel Faversham, but wrong when she imagined
that Bridget's inducement was his larger income?
"I'm sorry to be so late," said Mark, when at last he entered
Carrissima's presence that evening.
"Oh, it isn't too late," she answered. "My father is out, and I am
thankful for any one to relieve the monotony of things."
"The fact is," Mark explained, "I have a serious case near here. I was
kept rather longer than I anticipated. My third visit to-day!"
"You must be making a rapid fortune," she cried gaily.
"Anyhow, it's a beginning," he said, adding, after a momentary pause,
"I thought you might be surprised to see me at Golfney Place this
afternoon."
"No, I don't know that I was," returned Carrissima. "Just a wee bit,
perhaps; but then, you know, one ought never to feel astonished to meet
a doctor anywhere."
"Oh well, Bridget's not a patient," said Mark, with a smile. "I was on
my way home from Sir Wilford's, when I saw her in a motor-car just by
the corner of Golfney Place. She insisted that I should go in with
her, and because of her importunity I consented."
"Has the carpet arrived yet?" asked Carrissima.
"It was laid while I was out this afternoon," was the answer.
"Well, I hope you approve of my taste."
"It looks first-rate," said Mark. "The room is transformed. I have
some idea of putting up my fees on the strength of it. I should like
you to come and have a look," he added.
"Why, of course," returned Carrissima. "I must ask Phoebe to bring me
one afternoon, and you shall give us some more of those delicious
cakes."
Mark Driver was certainly living in a fool's paradise that evening. He
did not imagine for an instant that he should ever hear of the escapade
again. The incident was ended. Carrissima remained in blissful
ignorance, and he had made his peace with Bridget.
Bliss, however, was far from Carrissima that night. For one thing, she
blamed herself severely for having opened her heart to Sybil
Clynesworth. Although it seemed obvious that Mark had been playing an
equivocal game, there could, Carrissima felt certain on reflection, be
no justification for the innuendoes which she had allowed herself to
make. The truth was that even now she scarcely knew what she had said
in her wrath. She remembered that odious ideas had flashed unbidden
across her mind--ideas which now appeared as unworthy of herself as of
Mark.
Still, after making every allowance, her disillusioning remained
complete. How could a man feel an interest in the precise colour of
her own eyes one day and kiss the lips of another woman the next? She
knew that her wish had been father to the thought, and she felt
exceedingly bitter against Miss Bridget Rosser, who appeared still to
have three men dangling at her heels.
One of these was becoming impatient. Colonel Faversham had reached the
end of his tether. He realized that his authority over Bridget would
not bear a great strain, and accordingly on Wednesday morning he made
his way to Donaldson's, where he purchased a handsome and expensive
jewelled waist-belt, such as she had admired on an actress when he took
her to the play a few evenings ago. Armed with this peace-offering,
Colonel Faversham reached Golfney Place at eleven o'clock on the
morning after Mark Driver's unfortunate visit.