"Being human, I suppose I am bound to assume there must be
blemishes about her somewhere--I don't know where! But," Jimmy
continued, "of one thing I am as certain as a man can be of anything in
this world."

"What is that?" faltered Bridget.

"Her utter incapability of the remotest shadow of deception. At least
I know that when the time comes to put my fate to the touch, she will
answer with absolute honesty. If she loves me I shall be the most
fortunate beggar under the sun, and if unhappily she doesn't, she will
say so _sans phrase_."

"You put a premium on candour!" she suggested.

"Why, yes," he answered. "Whatever I may be I am not very intolerant,
but double dealing is the one thing I think I might find it impossible
to forgive. It isn't the spoken lie that's the worst."

"What is?" asked Bridget.

"The abominable whitewash we daub over our lives. The eternal pretence
to be something we are not. The---- But," Jimmy broke off, with a
laugh, "you must always pull me up when I show signs of beginning to
preach!"

As he was speaking, the door opened and Miller in his quiet way
announced--

"Colonel Faversham."

"Hullo, Jimmy, are you here!" he exclaimed, as Bridget offered her hand.

"Don't you think it looks rather like it?" answered Jimmy, with an
ingratiating smile. "I hope your knee is better, colonel."

"Quite all right," said Colonel Faversham, with a scowl. "Never
anything the matter with it. I am never ill. There isn't a sounder
man in London."

"Oh well, that's a large order," answered Jimmy. "Still, at your age I
don't suppose there is."

Colonel Faversham looked as if he would like to annihilate Jimmy, who
was struggling to put David Rosser's novel into his jacket pocket.
Then he said "good-bye" to Bridget, adding coolly--

"I shall bring back the book in a day or two."

With a nod to the colonel he left the room, whereupon Faversham lowered
himself carefully into a chair.

"Has Jimmy often been here?" he demanded.

"Oh dear, no," she answered. "This is the first visit."

"Like his impudence! It won't be the last."

"I hope not," murmured Bridget, standing by the side of his chair.

"How many times have you met him since that afternoon at my house?"
asked Colonel Faversham.

"Only once besides to-day!"

"He took that book," was the answer, "simply for the sake of bringing
it back! I hate anything underhanded."

"But he isn't!" Bridget insisted. "He said that