difficult not to please any
man with eyes in his head. Her curiously childlike ingenuousness was
too perfect to be counterfeited. Bridget charmed because she must.

When she referred to the report of a recent lawsuit in which Lawrence
had admittedly increased his already growing reputation, Carrissima
smiled to see him unbend, although she might feel inclined to frown
when she noticed that Colonel Faversham's eyes scarcely left Bridget's
face until she rose from her chair to follow her hostess up-stairs.

In the drawing-room, while the men were smoking, she inquired after
Phoebe's boy. She declared she was "so fond of children" in a tone
which compelled credence. She wished to know the colour of Victor's
eyes and hair; she listened to Phoebe's marvellous stories of his
precocity without the slightest sign of scepticism or boredom.

"He is going to have a party of his own next week," said his mother.

"Beginning early," returned Bridget, as the door opened and Lawrence
and the colonel came in.

"What's that, what's that?" demanded Colonel Faversham, crossing the
room to Bridget's side.

"I was telling Miss Rosser," Phoebe explained, "that Victor is going to
have a party. Eight children all under three."

"Good heavens!" said the colonel.

"I was wondering whether you would care to come and see them,"
suggested Phoebe, and she would have liked to invite the sympathetic
Bridget, only that she felt certain Lawrence would disapprove.

"No, thank you, Phoebe, no, thank you," was the prompt reply. "Still,
you needn't be afraid. I shall not forget his birthday. You'll see!"

"Oh, then it is Victor's birthday!" cried Bridget.

"On Tuesday," said Phoebe.

"How old will he be?"

"Two," returned his delighted mother, and Bridget leaned back in her
chair with a profound sigh.

"Oh dear," she murmured, "and I shall actually be twenty-three on
Wednesday!"

"Now what are you going to do to celebrate the occasion?" demanded
Colonel Faversham.

"Let me see," said Bridget; "I shall breakfast alone, have lunch alone,
tea alone and dinner in the same delightful company. How different it
used to be when we lived at Crowborough! The day was a kind of
festival. Before I was grown up we always had a primrose party."

Carrissima could not refrain from looking at her sympathetically.
Although her lips were smiling, her eyes seemed not a little pitiful.
It was impossible not to like the girl, and, moreover, if it we