ow my own trumpet. Thank goodness I was
never that sort of man! I wish I were a boy just because you're a
girl, but if you'll take me as I am, you'll make me the happiest man in
the world, and I'll do my best to see you never regret it."

"I shan't pretend that you've taken me entirely by surprise," said
Bridget.

"Surprise!" exclaimed Colonel Faversham. "No one could have shown much
more plainly what he wanted. There's not much shilly-shally about me.
For that matter, I made up my mind long ago----"

"Oh, but you really haven't known me very long," she suggested. "It
can't be more than a month since Mark went to Paris."

"I wish," said the colonel, "he had gone to Hades!"

"I know you are horridly jealous," she continued, "because you always
change the subject when I mention his name. I like Mark Driver
immensely!"

"Anyhow, I want to hear you say you like me better," said Colonel
Faversham.

She stood looking at him critically--and very tantalizingly--with her
head slightly on one side; and while he devoured her with his eyes,
Bridget slowly took a chair.

"But why should you try to make me say what isn't true?" she demanded.

"I hope it would be," urged Colonel Faversham.

"I am not at all certain," she said quietly. "It's a vastly important
question. It requires time for consideration."

"How long, for goodness' sake?"

"I really couldn't possibly tell you offhand. I shouldn't care to bind
myself."

"I am desperately impatient to bind you, though," answered Colonel
Faversham. "I would see to it we had a good time. There's no wish of
yours that shouldn't be gratified--in reason, you know."

"Haven't you discovered by this time how unreasonable I am?" she asked.

"Bridget, come now, be a good girl!" he murmured.

"That shows how little you know me," she returned, "because I'm not in
the least good."

"Well, well, call yourself what you please! Only have a little love
for me, and I don't care what the devil you are!" exclaimed Colonel
Faversham, and at that moment he meant precisely what he said.

"I am not certain I have," she cried, with a laugh. "You see that
whatever I may be I am candid. I don't think I have a particle of what
I suppose you mean by 'love' for any living being. Perhaps there's
something wanting in my constitution. I don't believe I shall ever be
capable of 'loving' anybody as long as I live."

"Good gracious," was the answer, "don't tantalize me. Why do you