INCRIMINATING HIMSELF
Carrissima felt compelled to go to Charteris Street. She could not
resist the temptation of telling Lawrence this latest news about their
father and Bridget, whose departure from Golfney Place made him quite
genial.
"The best thing I've heard for a long time," he exclaimed. "Let us
hope we've all seen the last of her."
Lawrence found points of interest in the situation. If, as Carrissima
insisted, Colonel Faversham had been in the habit of making Bridget
frequent presents, and had now received them back, surely matters must
have advanced farther than anybody believed. There was something
formal about such a restitution, and perhaps they had even more than
they knew to feel thankful for.
He took Phoebe to Grandison Square after dinner on Sunday evening in
order to observe for himself the change in Colonel Faversham's
demeanour, at which Carrissima had hinted. Certainly the colonel had
not much to say even concerning the progress of the Parliament Bill
through the House of Commons, and presently Lawrence skilfully
introduced Bridget's name.
"By the bye," he asked, turning to Carrissima, "you haven't discovered
Miss Rosser's address yet?"
"I haven't tried," was the answer, as Colonel Faversham's cough became
troublesome.
"You ought to get Mark to give you something for it," suggested
Lawrence, and the colonel was explaining that it was merely a tickling
in his throat, when, opportunely, Mark Driver entered the room.
During his hospital days, he would often look in at Grandison Square on
Sunday evenings, and just now he felt a greater longing for
Carrissima's society than ever in his life before, as one may pine for
a cooling draught on the morning following a night's carouse.
"Ah!" exclaimed Lawrence, "here's the man who may be able to enlighten
us."
"What about?" asked Mark, as he shook hands with one after another.
"The bird that's flown," said Lawrence, with a laugh.
"Who's that?"
"Bridget," Carrissima explained, "has gone away from Golfney Place."
"And left no address!" cried her brother.
Carrissima, having now recovered her usual common-sense, did not for a
moment imagine that Mark's astonishment was counterfeited. She felt
certain that his inquiries were perfectly sincere, bewildered as she
still remained whenever she thought of his conduct that afternoon of
disillusion.
She had dropped back into the habit which had prevailed so long, and
was once more regulating her demeanour with a fervent desire to
deceive. She was convinced of one fact at the least. She had counted
her chicks before they were hatched; it appeared impossible, in the
face of what she had witnessed, that Mark could entertain the shadow of
a regard for her. Still, it was obvious that he knew nothing more
about Bridget's movements than Jimmy or Colonel Faversham, who made a
valiant effort to change the subject by asking Mark whether he had
anything to do. As it happened, he was quite busy in his incipient
way. Sir Wilford Scones was seriously ill, and Randolph Messeter had
been called in for a consultation. There would probably be an
operation before the week ended. With the deliberate intention of
creating a favourable impression on the colonel, for whose daughter's
hand he was on the point of asking, Mark explained that Harefield's
practice was turning out far better than could have been expected. Now
and then he glanced significantly at Carrissima, who might have bidden
him "good-bye" very happily if Bridget Rosser had never entered her
life.
The next morning, at about twelve o'clock, Mark was in his
consulting-room when Jimmy was announced. Sybil had seen him leave
Upper Grosvenor Street with considerable misgiving, dreading lest his
interview with Mark should lead to trouble with Carrissima. She sighed
to remember his scepticism about Bridget's backsliding, and felt
confident that her brother was on his way to a very painful ordeal.
Jimmy, for his own part, had scarcely attempted to explain the
discrepancy between Sybil's story and his own ideal of Bridget.
Otherwise he might, perhaps, have come to the conclusion that
Carrissima had exaggerated, while Sybil had added a little more ghastly
colour. Sybil was sometimes given to that kind of trick.
That Mark was nothing to Bridget, never had been anything to her, Jimmy
felt certain. Driver had, indeed, dropped so completely out of her
life that it had not seemed worth while to take the trouble to go to
Weymouth Street in the hope of discovering a clue to her present
abiding-place. In any case, Jimmy reached the house this Monday
morning with a conviction that the scandalous fiction would at once be
exploded.
He came to the point at once.
"Rather an unpleasant business has brought me here, Mark," he
exclaimed. "To begin with, there's one thing I want to say.
Understand I believe the whole story is a _canard_."
"What story?" asked Mark, sitting in his swivel-chair on one side of
the leather-topped writing-table, while Jimmy stood a foot from the
other.
"Of course," Jimmy continued, "I know there's not a grain of truth in
it. Still when such an abominable accusation has been made, it's just
as well to lose no time in scotching it."
Mark Driver had not the least suspicion. He sat with one elbow on the
table, one hand supporting his chin, his handsome, alert face wearing
the somewhat grave expression suitable to his professional environment.
His visit to Grandison Square the previous evening alone would have
been enough to prove, if proof were necessary, that Carrissima remained
blissfully ignorant of that trivial act of folly in Golfney Place. An
excellent test had been provided. Bridget's departure had been freely
discussed, and Carrissima had not shown the slightest embarrassment.
She had bidden him "good-bye" at eleven o'clock, and Colonel Faversham
had encouraged him to come again before many days. They were always
pleased to see him!
"But who in the world has been making an accusation?" asked Mark.
"Sybil--at least it originated with Carrissima," said Jimmy.
"My dear chap," retorted Mark warmly, "surely you must know that
Carrissima is the very last person to make an accusation, founded or
unfounded, against anybody."
"I should have thought so," Jimmy admitted.
"Whom is it against?"
"Bridget. I am bound to bring it out," said Jimmy. "The fact is
Carrissima insists that you two have been gulling us all. To put it
plainly, she declares there has been what she rather euphemistically
calls 'an understanding' between you from first to last."
Mark was on his feet before Jimmy ceased speaking, but even now he did
not perceive the real inwardness of the situation. The statement
sounded incredible. If there was one fact of which this somewhat
sceptical man was absolutely convinced, it was that whether Carrissima
loved him well enough to marry him or not, she at least entertained the
very highest opinion of him.
"You must be dreaming!" he cried. "Carrissima could never have said
anything of the kind."
"Anyhow," answered Jimmy, "I had it from Sybil an hour or so ago."
"But, my dear fellow," Mark expostulated, "it's simply inconceivable.
Carrissima knows that Bridget is nothing to me. To tell you the truth,
I had my own reasons for going out of my way to tell her so."
"You thought it necessary!" exclaimed Jimmy hastily.
"Oh well," said Mark, "I had fallen into the habit of going to Golfney
Place rather often--that was before I went to Yorkshire--as far back as
January. Carrissima had the idea that I admired the girl; so I did,
for that matter--who wouldn't? But she could never have told Sybil
that! She couldn't think anything of the sort without setting me down
as a thorough-paced liar at the least."
"The odd part of it is," replied Jimmy, "that, according to Sybil,
Carrissima went in for particulars."
"Oh, let me hear them," said Mark, sitting down again.
He was just beginning to wonder. Was it possible that Carrissima had
not dropped those flowers until after she had obtained a glimpse of the
interior of Bridget's sitting-room? But, even so, she could never
build such an abominable theory on that ludicrously insufficient
evidence.
"Well," said Jimmy, "Carrissima insists that she saw you holding
Bridget in your arms--in the act of kissing her, to put it plainly."
This was a trying moment for Mark Driver. His face was crimson, and he
would have given a great deal to be able to deny the too soft
impeachment. As this was impossible, he lost his temper with
Carrissima. Egoism was probably the prime factor in his present mood.
He thought less of the excuse he had provided than of the painful
circumstance that he had been cutting such a sorry figure in her eyes.
While he flattered himself that she regarded him as a kind of king who
could do no wrong, she had, in truth, looked upon him as a pretty
contemptible scoundrel. It seemed an additional offence that she
should have dissembled her opinion, so that when he, being beguiled,
asked her to marry him, she might coolly send him about his business.
A suspicion of something, perhaps, resembling insincerity in his own
conduct made him only more intolerant of hers. He saw now how much
better it would have been, instead of trusting for immunity to her
ignorance, to have taken his courage in his hands and made a clean
breast of what, after all, was only a venial offence. A counsel of
perfection, no doubt, but Mark wished that he had followed it.
He was deeply wounded in the most sensitive part, but while admitting
his weakness in yielding to a commonplace temptation, he could make no
excuse for Carrissima's scandalous libel. An hour ago, she had been
the only woman in the world for him; as to Bridget--well, the old Adam
had cropped out for an instant. To account for his vulnerability one
must embark on a study of the theory of Evolution! If he had been
actually affianced to Carrissima, the case would, no doubt, have been
more serious, although even then there could be no justification for
her shameful accusation. But he was not affianced to her, and, in the
face of what he had just heard, he never wished to be.
Jimmy saw that Mark was deeply moved, and made a shrewd guess at the
cause. In a friendly way, he walked round the writing-table, and
standing by the side of the chair, rested a hand on the other's
shoulder.
"I shouldn't take it too seriously," he said. "You'll generally find
there's a way out somehow. You know I told you, to begin with, that I
knew it was an infernal lie!"
"But--you see--it wasn't," answered Mark.
"I don't understand," said Jimmy, withdrawing his hand.
"It's perfectly true," muttered Mark, moistening his lips, "that
Carrissima came to Golfney Place and saw me----"
"Saw you--saw you with Bridget in your arms! Good Lord!" exclaimed
Jimmy, gazing down at Mark's bowed head.
Rising from his chair, Mark gripped one lapelle of his frock coat in
each hand as he paced the small room.
"She was talking about her earlier days at Crowborough," he said, with
considerable embarrassment. "She had been there that morning. She
seemed upset, and I--well, I lost my head for the moment. I hadn't
seen her since the day after my return from Paris. What I told
Carrissima was absolutely true. The moment she entered Bridget's room
I saw what a fool I had been. Of course, we both made the mistake of
imagining Carrissima had seen nothing. But anyhow--whatever she saw,
to think she could jump to such a conclusion!"
"Not very surprising, after all," said Jimmy quietly. "I fancy that I
should have thought the same. You must admit the situation appeared a
little compromising."
"You wouldn't say that if you had seen Bridget later on," answered Mark.
"Look here, old fellow," said Jimmy, "you and I have known each other a
good many years. You remember when we used to fight like billy-oh at
Brighton."
"I dare say you feel rather as if you would like to punch my head now,"
returned Mark.
"H'm, well--I tell you frankly," said Jimmy. "This jaw we're having
may influence my whole life."
"It has already influenced mine," cried Mark.
"How's that?" demanded Jimmy.
"I have been hoping to marry Carrissima--to put it plainly. You've
shown what she thinks of me."
"Surely," said Jimmy, "she had more than a little excuse!"
"My dear chap," replied Mark, "you're not such a prig that you can't
understand the possibility of a man's losing his head about a pretty
woman."
"Why, no," said Jimmy; "but I wish to goodness you had not chosen that
particular one."
"If I had imagined Carrissima saw us, I should have explained things at
once," added Mark.
"The question is," suggested Jimmy, "whether your explanation would
have sounded quite convincing."
"Good Lord!" said Mark, "you speak as if you were not convinced!"
"Of one thing--yes," was the answer. "I can understand a fellow's
kissing a pretty woman--or a dozen if it comes to that, but I know
you're not the man to go where you're not certain you're wanted."
Now Mark hesitated, thinking that he had humiliated himself almost
enough. Seeing, however, that Jimmy was hanging upon his answer, he
felt compelled to belittle himself to the uttermost rather than allow
the slightest obstacle to remain between Bridget and this man who
appointed himself her champion.
"The truth is," said Mark, "I--well, I made a mistake."
"About Bridget?" demanded Jimmy eagerly.
"Yes," answered Mark. "I had no shadow of an excuse. From first to
last she had never given me the remotest reason. It was simply my own
egregious stupidity. To put it honestly, I acted like a bounder. I'm
immensely sorry, Jimmy."
Jimmy could not help feeling sore about it. For one thing, he
regretted the necessity to admit to Sybil that the false report
contained that one word of truth. Worse than this! an indignity had
been put on Bridget by Mark Driver, who seemed the last man in the
world to inflict it. Jimmy, however, realized that one of her most
potent charms was a delectable, seductive ingenuousness and
irresponsibility, which might, perhaps, on occasion prove a little
misleading to unregenerate man. Nevertheless, he felt sore as he left
Weymouth Street.