"Have you been feeling dull?" he asked, sitting down at one end of the large sofa, while she sank on to the other. "Only during the evenings," she explained. "I sit here by myself night after night. I try to read, but gradually my thoughts wander, and I'm back at home again. Home is always the dear old house at Crowborough." "Well now," said Mark, "what have you been doing all these weeks?" "Oh, I--I don't know," she answered, trifling with some trimming on her dress. "Anyhow," suggested Mark, looking round the large room, "you seem to have plenty of flowers." They were standing in every available space: in pots, in bowls, in vases; the air of the room was laden with their scent. "They all came from Colonel Faversham," said Bridget, more soberly than usual. "Have you seen Carrissima by any chance?" "This afternoon," returned Mark. "Then you know she has seen me. I think she is perfectly sweet, Mark! She came here a few days after you went away, and asked me to go to Grandison Square. She gave me leave to look her up as often as I liked. I took her at her word. Oh, I assure you I feel very much at home there." Bridget lowered her eyes, paused a moment, then raised them again to Mark's face. "The question is," she said slowly, as if she were carefully choosing her words, "whether I shall make it my home--for good, you understand. I have been longing for you to come so that I might--that I might ask your advice." "What about?" demanded Mark, somewhat taken aback by her outspokenness. "Oh, how dense you must be if you can't really guess," she said. "I don't think I shall try," was the answer. "Oh well, if you make me say it! Colonel Faversham wants me to marry him. Now the murder is out, isn't it?" "Almost as detestable a crime!" cried Mark. "Do you mean that he has actually asked you----" "If he hadn't, how should I know?" she replied. "Because there's always the chance of a slip between the cup and the lip. Besides, even such an unreticent person as myself couldn't possibly anticipate. I dare say you wonder that I talk to you about it, in any case; but then, you see, I have nobody else." "You haven't done anything so monstrous as to accept him?" said Mark. "Oh--monstrous!" she murmured. "Of course, it's unthinkable!" "Indeed it is not," said Bridget. "If you only knew how I have lain awake thinking of it. Still, I wouldn't say 'yes.' I have kept the poor dear man in suspense till your return. He is quite ridiculously--well, in love with me, I suppose he would call it." "Obviously you are nothing of the kind," suggested Mark. "In love--with Colonel Faversham!" she cried, with a laugh. "You know, Mark, he is most horridly jealous." "So there's some one else?" "Only you," she said, and Mark started to his feet. "Jealous of me! Oh, good Lord!" he exclaimed, and suddenly became aware that Bridget was keeping him under close observation.