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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Twelfth Hour, by Ada Leverson
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Twelfth Hour
+
+
+Author: Ada Leverson
+
+
+
+Release Date: December 17, 2008  [eBook #27554]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TWELFTH HOUR***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Carla Foust, and the Project Gutenberg
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note:
+
+   Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
+   errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
+   inconsistencies are as in the original.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TWELFTH HOUR
+
+by
+
+ADA LEVERSON
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+London
+Chapman & Hall
+
+Originally published 1907 by Grant Richards Ltd.
+Reissued 1951 by arrangement with the Richards Press Ltd.
+
+Printed by Brueder Rosenbaum, Vienna, Austria
+Cat. No. 5090/4
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+   Chapter                                 Page
+
+   I      FELICITY                            7
+
+   II     THE TRIALS OF WOODVILLE            23
+
+   III    A LOVE SCENE                       32
+
+   IV     "AUNT WILLIAM"                     40
+
+   V      ARTHUR MERVYN AT HOME              55
+
+   VI     AN AGREEABLE RATTLE                70
+
+   VII    THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY             82
+
+   VIII   FELICITY AND HER CLIENTS          100
+
+   IX     A DINNER AT WILLIS'S              112
+
+   X      THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE         125
+
+   XI     SAVILE AND SYLVIA                 138
+
+   XII    AT THE STUDIO                     148
+
+   XIII   AT MRS. OGILVIE'S                 155
+
+   XIV    LORD CHETWODE                     166
+
+   XV     MADAME TUSSAUD'S                  175
+
+   XVI    A GOLDEN DAY                      189
+
+   XVII   SAVILE TAKES A LINE               195
+
+   XVIII  FELICITY'S ENGAGEMENTS            202
+
+   XIX    THE VELVET CASE                   216
+
+   XX     ZERO, THE SOOTHSAYER              232
+
+   XXI    "THE OTHER GIRL"                  246
+
+   XXII   SAVILE AND JASMYN                 255
+
+   XXIII  SAVILE AND BERTIE                 261
+
+   XXIV   THE EXPLANATION                   267
+
+   XXV    THE QUARREL                       274
+
+   XXVI   VERA'S ADVENTURE                  282
+
+   XXVII  AUNT WILLIAM'S DAY                292
+
+   XXVIII THE TWELFTH HOUR                  302
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+FELICITY
+
+
+"Hallo, Greenstock! Lady Chetwode in?"
+
+"Her ladyship is not at home, sir. But she is sure to see you, Master
+Savile," said the butler, with a sudden and depressing change of manner,
+from correct impassibility to the conventional familiarity of a
+patronising old retainer.
+
+"Dressing, eh? You look all right Greenstock."
+
+"Well, I am well, and I am not well, Master Savile, if you can
+understand that, sir. My harsthma" (so he pronounced it), "'as been
+exceedingly troublesome lately."
+
+"Ah, that's capital!" Not listening, the boy--he was sixteen, dark, and
+very handsome, with a determined expression, and generally with an air
+of more self-control than seemed required for the occasion--walked up
+deliberately, three steps at a time, knocked, with emphasis, at his
+sister's dressing-room door, and said--
+
+"I say, Felicity, can I come in?"
+
+"Who's there? Don't come in!"
+
+Upon which invitation he entered the room with a firm step.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Savile darling. I am glad to see you! Dear pet! Come and
+tell me all about everything--papa and the party--and, look out, dear,
+don't tread on my dresses! Give Mr. Crofton a chair, Everett. Even you
+mustn't sit down on a perfectly new hat!"
+
+Felicity was a lovely little blonde creature about twenty-five years
+old, dressed in a floating Watteau-like garment of vaporous blue,
+painted with faded pink roses. She was seated in a large carved and
+gilded chair, opposite an excessively Louis-Quinze mirror, while her
+pale golden hair was being brushed out by a brown, inanimate-looking
+maid. Her little oval face, with its soft cloudy hair growing low on the
+forehead, long blue eyes, and rosebud mouth, had something of the
+romantic improbability of an eighteenth-century miniature. From the age
+of two Felicity had been an acknowledged beauty. She profited by her
+grasp of this fact merely by being more frank than most charming people,
+and more natural than most disagreeable ones. With little
+self-consciousness, she took a cool sportsmanlike pleasure in the effect
+she produced, and perhaps enjoyed the envy and admiration she had
+excited in her perambulator in Kensington Gardens almost as much as her
+most showy successes in later life.
+
+The most effective of these (so far) had been her marriage. Hopelessly
+bowled over, as he called it, by her detailed loveliness, and not even
+frightened by her general brilliance, Lord Chetwode had insisted on her
+making the match of the previous season. He was a good-looking, amiable,
+and wealthy young man, who was as lavish as if he had not had a penny,
+and who showed his extravagantly long descent chiefly by being (for a
+racing man) rather eccentrically interested in the subject of
+decoration.
+
+He was an owner of racehorses and a collector of curiosities, and these
+tastes gave him certain interests apart from his wife. He was, however,
+very much in love with her, and showed it chiefly by writing her nearly
+every day long, elaborate, and conspicuously illegible love-letters. She
+was not an expert in handwriting, nor had she time or patience to
+decipher them. So she merely treasured them (unread) in a green and
+white striped silk box. For under all her outward sentimentality,
+Felicity was full of tenderness, especially for her husband. This was
+not surprising, for he was a most agreeable companion, a great friend,
+quite devoted to her, to his pretty home in London, and his picturesque
+old house in the country, from all of which, however, he was as a rule
+markedly absent. If one asked after Chetwode, the answer was nearly
+always that he was away.
+
+He had chosen every detail of the house in Park Street with a patience
+worthy of his passion. In the bedroom, especially, not a concession was
+made, not a point stretched. All was purest Louis-Quinze. But in spite
+of this, and amidst all her tapestry and old French furniture, Felicity
+had a very contemporary air. About everything was the recent look
+characteristic of the home of a lately married couple. The room looked
+as if it had been decorated the day before for a twentieth-century
+Madame de Pompadour. But, if the background was almost archaeological,
+the atmosphere was absolutely modern. In this incongruity was a certain
+fascination.
+
+Though the bridal freshness still lingered, a more wilful element was
+also observable. Invitation-cards, race-cards, the _Daily Mail_,
+magazines, English and French novels, and cigarettes were freely
+scattered about, and an expert would have seen at a glance that the
+dresses lying in every direction could not have formed part of any
+trousseau. They had obviously been chosen with (or against) the advice
+of Lord Chetwode.
+
+Savile sat down on a pink curved sofa, and said definitely--
+
+"Look here, Felicity, I want to speak to you."
+
+"Yes, darling?"
+
+"Does Chetwode know what's going to win the Cambridgeshire?"
+
+"How can he know, darling? Would it be fair? Of course he has some vague
+_idea_. Candid Friend he said was the favourite. He says it's a
+certainty. But _his_ certainties! (Everett, look out. You've been
+overdoing the waving lately. Remember how careful I have to be not to
+look like a wax-doll in a hair-dresser's shop ... with _my_ complexion)!
+Go on, Savile,--what's the party going to be like?"
+
+"Like nothing on earth, my dear, as usual. One of the governor's
+baffling entertainments."
+
+"Well, I don't care what people say, Savile! I think papa's parties are
+the greatest fun one can get anywhere. It's a wonderful mixture,--a sort
+of Russian salad. How exciting it is, for instance, never being quite
+sure whether one is going to be taken to dinner by--Lord Rosebery,
+or--Little Tich!"
+
+"As it happens, my dear, they've both refused," said Savile ironically.
+
+"Oh, Savile, don't be funny when I've no time to laugh. Do you deny
+papa's peculiar talent for celebrities? Is De Valdez coming?"
+
+"The Spanish composer? Oh, rather! He's coming over about his new opera.
+He's all right. At least, I bear him rather, but girls like him."
+
+"And who will be the great card this time, Savile?"
+
+"Of course, Roy Beaumont, the inventor."
+
+"What on earth's he invented?"
+
+"Himself, I should think. He's only about twenty-one. Roy's a capital
+chap, really. The only thing is, he wears hats that he thinks suit him.
+Otherwise he dresses rather well, for a dandy."
+
+"Why on earth shouldn't his hats suit him?" said Lady Chetwode in
+surprise.
+
+"Oh, never mind! I can't go into all that. Why, because you ought to
+wear things, because they're _right_, not because----Oh, girls don't
+understand dress! Don't let's fatigue ourselves discussing it. Any one
+can see you've never been to Eton."
+
+"Well, I should rather hope they could," murmured Felicity, looking in
+the glass.
+
+"F. J. Rivers and Arthur Mervyn, the actor, are coming, and--oh, a lot
+more."
+
+"I see, it's a clever party. Isn't it fun, Savile, being the only stupid
+person in a crowd of clever people? They make such a fuss about one.
+Aren't any real people coming?"
+
+"A few. Some heavy M.P.'s and their wives, and Aunt William, and of
+course old Ridokanaki."
+
+"Oh, the Greek millionaire,--the banker?"
+
+"Don't call him the banker; it reminds me of _The Hunting of the
+Snark_."
+
+Felicity laughed.
+
+"Yes; Mr. Ridokanaki is rather like a sort of Snark, and you and papa
+are hunting him for Sylvia. Will it come off?"
+
+"Shouldn't think so," said Savile thoughtfully. "He's rather a bore, but
+he's a good sort. Of course, Sylvia ought to marry him. All the pretty
+girls are marrying these Anglo-Aliens. He's very keen. But about my
+affairs--I say, Everett, do take away these fluffy rustling things."
+
+Everett having completed her task, with a stiff smile, and a rainbow of
+chiffons over her arm, faded away.
+
+Felicity, completely dressed, turned her chair round and put up her
+absurd little high-heeled shoes.
+
+"Now then, fire away, old boy."
+
+Savile, taking this command literally, stretched out his hand for the
+cigarettes. Felicity snatched them away.
+
+"How dare you! You won't grow any more! Here, have a chocolate!"
+
+Savile looked at her with a pitying smile and said slowly--
+
+"What rot! Grow! As if I wanted to grow! As if I had the time! I've got
+more serious things than that to do I can tell you. I have two rather
+awful troubles. Look here. Things are a bit off at home just now. The
+Governor is furious about Chetwode not coming to the party."
+
+Lady Chetwode's colour deepened.
+
+"Well, what about me, Savile? Do you think I'm pleased? Is it my fault
+the Cambridgeshire's run on Wednesday? Do be just to me! Do I make the
+racing engagements? You can't pretend that I can alter the rules of
+Newmarket because papa chooses to give a lot of absurd parties!"
+
+"I know, old girl--but can't you make him give it up?"
+
+"Who ever yet made Chetwode give up anything he wants to do? Besides,
+it's not like a dinner-party, or his wedding, or anything like that,
+Savile, you know. After all, he isn't _bound_ to be there!"
+
+"All right; only it's the first thing we've given since your marriage
+and----"
+
+"I know, dear. I'm very angry about it. Very. Besides, I'm sure I don't
+care if the darling prefers racing! Don't you know by this time that
+whenever Chetwode is particularly wanted he is sure to be either at
+Kempton or at Christie's?"
+
+"Spending at Christie's what he's lost at Kempton, I suppose."
+
+"Naturally, Savile. And if he prefers his horses, and his jockeys, and
+his bookmakers, and even his old furniture, to taking his own wife to
+her own father's party----"
+
+"Hallo, old girl, don't tell me you haven't everything under the sun you
+want! Because that would be a bit too thick," said Savile, sitting up.
+
+"Who says I haven't?"
+
+"No one, if you don't."
+
+"I should hope not!"
+
+Then Felicity murmured relentingly--
+
+"Dear Chetwode! He's so heavenly in some ways. No, I won't worry and
+oppose him, it's a fatal mistake. We'll make it up to you later--stay
+with you on the river in August or something. What price you, dear?
+What's your trouble?"
+
+Savile fumbled a good deal with a tassel, laughed mirthlessly, frowned
+gloomily, and then said with a jerk: "What price me? No price. It's her.
+You know."
+
+Felicity replied patiently.
+
+"You always say that, and you never get any further,--never."
+
+"Well, my dear, don't you see--there's two things."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"What ought a chap to do who,--I've consulted men of the world, and yet
+I think you know best. You're so celebrated as a confidante."
+
+"Well?" said his sister.
+
+"What ought a chap to do--who ... oh, well ... if a chap--say a chap
+has--well--a girl, say, frightfully keen on him (for the sake of the
+argument), and she's a decent sort of girl, and at the same time the
+poor chap is frightfully keen on another girl, who is frightfully keen
+on another chap--who is a very decent chap too, mind you ... what ought
+he to do?"
+
+"Which chap, Savile?"
+
+"Oh, don't be so muddle-headed, Felicity! Pull yourself together, can't
+you? _Me_, of course!"
+
+"Oh, you!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You mean Dolly Clive is in love with you" (Savile winced at the
+feminine explicitness), "and you are in love with some one else, and
+it's quite hopeless."
+
+"I don't quite say that. But there are tremendous difficulties."
+
+"Is she married? Oh, I do believe she's married. Oh, Savile! How
+extraordinary and horrid of you!"
+
+"Oh, it's all right, Felicity," said Savile, with a reassuring nod, at
+which she laughed.
+
+"I'm sure it is, dear. But who on earth is it?"
+
+Savile took a photograph out of his pocket, and blushingly showed it to
+his sister, with his head turned away.
+
+As she looked at it her face expressed the most unfeigned bewilderment.
+
+"Aunt William? But this is very sudden.... Oh, it's some mistake,
+surely! You _can't_ be in love with Aunt William!"
+
+With a howl of fury Savile snatched the portrait from her.
+
+It was a quaint, faded photograph of an elderly aunt of his taken in the
+early seventies. It represented a woman with an amiable expression and a
+pointed face; parted hair, with a roll on the top, and what was in those
+days known as an Alexandra curl on the left shoulder. She was leaning
+her head on her hand, and her elbow on a vague shelf or balcony. The
+photograph was oval in shape, and looked as if the lady were looking out
+of a window. At the base of the window was a kind of board, on which was
+written in her own handwriting, magnified (in white letters, relieved on
+black), the beautiful words, "Yours truly, Mary Crofton."
+
+"You are an idiot, Felicity!" said Savile angrily. "You make fun of
+everything! I gave it you by mistake. I took it from Aunt William's
+album for a joke. Give it me."
+
+"Don't snatch! I want another prehistoric peep--and now tell me the real
+person, dear," said Felicity, trying not to laugh.
+
+"Oh no, you don't! I just shan't now."
+
+"Mayn't I see the real one?"
+
+Savile, after a glance at Aunt William, gave a short laugh, and said,
+putting it away--
+
+"Look here, and try to listen. This is how I stand. Last holidays, at
+Christmas, I proposed to Dolly Clive in the square. She accepted me.
+Very well. This holidays, I saw some one else; what is a fellow to do?
+And then I went completely off my head about her, as any chap with a
+grain of sense would do, and Doll's no more to me now than----"
+
+"Aunt William," said Lady Chetwode.
+
+"As a gentleman, I'm bound to Dolly; though, _don't_ forget I always
+told her that if when she came out she met a chap she liked better, she
+was quite free; (not but what I jolly well intended to punch the chap's
+head). Still, there it was! Then this happens! And this time I fell
+really in love."
+
+"Where?"
+
+"Never mind where. At a concert."
+
+"But what concert, Savile?"
+
+"_A_ concert."
+
+"Whose concert? You've only been to one in your life. I know----the
+Albert Hall!"
+
+"You've hit in once, my dear."
+
+"Is it?"
+
+"Yes. Adelina Patti."
+
+Savile got up and looked out of the window.
+
+Felicity looked serious. Then she said gaily--
+
+"Poor old boy! I think, dear, you should try and forget it."
+
+"I can't, Felicity! She haunts me! Oh, the way she sings 'Comin through
+the Rye!' She's simply--well, ripping's the only word!"
+
+"It's hereditary. You're just like papa. He was madly in love with her
+once."
+
+"Only once!" Savile was contemptuous.
+
+"Well, Savile dear, anyhow I advise you to break it off definitely with
+Dolly. She's only just fourteen now, and it would interfere with her
+lessons. Besides, I know her mother wants her to go in for Physical
+Culture during the holidays. What are those exercises--Swedenborgian or
+something--anyhow, it takes up time. Besides, I somehow feel that that
+(the affair with Dolly) was more a sort of boy-and-girl fancy. Don't you
+think so? This, of course, is the great romance of your life. It will
+probably last for ever. Of course I know it's only a kind of distant
+worship and adoration, but still----"
+
+"How well you know, by Jove! Felicity, I tell you what--I'm not going to
+think about it any more. I _know_ there's no hope. Is she likely to
+sing again this season?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"Oh, Felicity, let me come with you!... No, I won't. I'd rather go alone
+in the balcony."
+
+"We'll see, dear. Now, what's the other trouble?"
+
+"Well, I'm rather worried about Sylvia."
+
+"Oh, my dear boy, that's a mania of yours! You're always harping on
+about her marrying Mr. Ridokanaki."
+
+"Why shouldn't she?"
+
+"Why should she, Savile? It wouldn't amuse her. And Sylvia is very happy
+at home; the head of papa's house, perfect liberty, and only twenty----"
+
+"I know; but do you know I sometimes suspect ... look here. Do you think
+Woodville--don't you think Sylvia ... likes him?"
+
+Felicity sat up with a jerk.
+
+"Frank Woodville! That highly-principled, highly-strung,
+highly-cultivated, intellectual young man? Oh _no_! _Oh_ no! Why he, as
+papa's secretary, would no more try to----"
+
+"Who says he would? She might like him all right, I suppose. Besides, if
+he _is_ highly cultivated, as you call it, and all that, it's not his
+fault, is it? He's a good-looking chap all the same. Face facts, I say!
+and if the truth were known, and every one had their rights, he _may_
+be human! You never know!"
+
+Felicity laughed, and then said--
+
+"I do hope he's not. It would be so impossible! Rather romantic too, a
+puritanical secretary with a figure and a profile in love with the
+pretty daughter of a pompous politician. He teaches her Latin too. Sort
+of Abelard and Francesca--or something--But oh! I don't believe it."
+
+"Abelard! Oh, what rot! Do shut up! Well, remember I've given you a
+hint, and I don't ask you not to tell--I treat you as an officer and a
+gentleman."
+
+"Don't worry about me," said Felicity, smiling, "I talk so much that I
+never have time to repeat a single thing about anybody--to the wrong
+person."
+
+"I know. Will you dine with us to-morrow, as Chetwode's out of town?"
+
+"No, Savile darling, I can't. I'm dining with Mrs. Ogilvie. You needn't
+mention it."
+
+Savile arranged his tie in the mirror, and said in his slow, impressive
+way--
+
+"I don't mention things. But the Governor doesn't care for that go-ahead
+set. And he's not wrong, either."
+
+"We're only going to dine at Ranelagh,--to try her new motor, dear,"
+said Felicity coaxingly.
+
+"Does Chetwode know?"
+
+"I thought you knew he was at Newmarket."
+
+"Well! Take it as you like, and think me an interfering ass if you
+choose, but if I were you I'd somehow get Chetwode back from
+Newmarket,--and not go about so much with Mrs. Ogilvie."
+
+"Why not, Savile?"
+
+"Well, I shouldn't begin that drifting apart business, _just_ yet. It's
+really rather rot, quite so soon. You're too young, and so on--been
+married a year, and I'm hanged if he's not fond of you still! Why do it?
+That's what I say----"
+
+"A person may be very devoted, _and_ a perfect husband, and sweet in
+every way, and not dream of drifting apart for ages and ages, and yet
+want to see Tobacco Trust run, darling!"
+
+"I know,--and I've put my last shilling on Penultimate!"
+
+"Naughty boy! I hope it was really your last shilling,--not your last
+sovereign!"
+
+He laughed, kissed her, and walked downstairs, softly humming to
+himself, "Gin a body meet a body...."
+
+When he had gone, Felicity looked quite sensible for a little while as
+she pondered indulgently on the weaknesses of her husband, cheerfully on
+the troubles of her brother, and with some real sisterly anxiety
+concerning the alarming attractions of Frank Woodville.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE TRIALS OF WOODVILLE
+
+
+Several hours of the morning had been passed by Woodville in an
+occupation that, one might think, would easily pall on a spirited young
+man--addressing envelopes and filling in invitation cards. The cards
+stated with tedious repetition that Miss Crofton and Sir James Crofton,
+M.P., would be At Home on the 30th April at ten o'clock. In the
+left-hand corner were the words, "Herr Yung's White Viennese Orchestra."
+
+Woodville's desk was close to the long French window, which opened on to
+a charming garden. From this garden came the sound of excited
+twitterings of birds and other pleasant suggestions of spring. Suddenly
+a tall and graceful young girl, with hair like sunshine, came up to the
+open window and smiled at him. She held up to show him some wonderful
+mauve and blue hyacinths that she carried, and then passed on. Woodville
+sighed. _It_ was too symbolic. The scent lingered. Like a
+half-remembered melody, it seemed to have the insidious power of
+recalling something in the past that was too wonderful ever to have
+happened, and of suggesting vague hopes of the most improbable joys.
+Sylvia seemed to the young man the incarnation of April. He put down his
+pen, and shaded his eyes with his hand. Then the inner door from the
+hall opened, and a pompous but genial voice exclaimed with heavy
+briskness--
+
+"Well, Woodville, finished, eh?"
+
+"Not yet, Sir James, but I can go on later, if you want me now."
+
+The secretary spoke with a deference that seemed surprising. He did not
+look like a man who would be supple to an employer, or obsequious to any
+one--even a woman.
+
+"No hurry, no hurry," said Sir James, with that air of self-denial that
+conveys the urgent necessity of intense speed. He was a handsome old
+man, with thick grey hair, a white military moustache, bushy dark
+eyebrows, and in his eyes that humorous twinkle that is so often seen in
+those men of the last generation who are most devoid of a sense of
+humour. Sir James was liable to the irritable changes of mood that would
+nowadays be called neurotic or highly strung, but was in his young days
+merely put down as bad temper. He had a high estimation of his mental
+powers, and a poor opinion of those who did not share this estimation.
+He took a special pride in his insight into character, and in that
+instinctive penetration that is said to enable its fortunate possessor
+to see as far through a brick wall as most people. (A modest ambition,
+when all is said and done!) His contemporaries liked him: at least, they
+smiled when his name was mentioned. He was warm-hearted and generous; he
+had a curious mania for celebrities; was a hospitable host, a tedious
+guest, and a loyal friend. His late wife (who was lovely, but weary) had
+always described him in one word. The word was "trying".
+
+Sir James sat down slowly on a depressed leather uneasy chair, and said,
+"Presently I want you to take notes of a speech I intend making in the
+House on Russia--I mean the present situation in Russia," he added
+instructively.
+
+"Of course," said Woodville, trying to look intelligently sympathetic,
+and restraining his inclination to say that he had not expected a speech
+at this time of day on our victories in the Crimea.
+
+"Do let's have the speech while it's fresh in your mind. I can easily
+return to this afterwards, Sir James."
+
+"Later on, later on; when it's more matured--more matured...." He
+pondered a few moments about nothing whatever, and then said, "Sent a
+card to Roy Beaumont, the young inventor? That's right. That boy has a
+future. Mark my words, he has a future before him."
+
+"Oh! I thought it had begun some time ago, and was still going on. He is
+quite twenty-three, isn't he?" asked Frank.
+
+"About that--about that. He's a young man with Ideas, Woodville."
+
+"Yes. I heard he had grown tired of button-holes, and is thinking of
+training a creeper to crawl up the lapel of his coat."
+
+"An original notion," said Sir James judicially. "If practicable. And
+what else did he invent?"
+
+"Wasn't it he who invented some new way of not posting letters--by
+electricity?"
+
+"I rather think you're confusing him with Marconi," said Sir James,
+shaking his head. "But I always detect genius! It's a curious thing,
+Woodville, but I never make a mistake! By the way, I should like to send
+a card to the Leader of the Opposition and his wife. Inquire of Sylvia
+about their address. I don't know them, socially, but I fancy they would
+be rather surprised if I omitted them."
+
+"It might, indeed, be rather marked," said Woodville, making a note, and
+remembering that it is as impossible nowadays to ask every one one
+knows as to know every one one asks.
+
+"Well, I'll leave you to your work, and we'll do the speech later, a
+little later ... much later," and Sir James meditatively bent his elbows
+on the arms of the chair, accurately placed all the tips of his fingers
+together, and slowly blinked his eyes. He did not mean any harm by this.
+In fact, he meant nothing. His gestures and expression had no
+significance at all. He simply behaved like any other elderly
+Anglo-Saxon who believes himself to be political and to resemble the
+"Younger Pitt."
+
+"I rather wanted to ask Miss Crofton about a change of address," said
+Woodville, glancing swiftly and hypocritically through the Red Book.
+
+"I'll send her to you--I'll send her. Don't move. Sit still, sit still."
+
+Woodville followed with his eyes the closing of the door; then he put
+down his pen and gazed at the closed door. Sometimes he thought his life
+was like a closed door. Yet, perhaps, there might be some one on the
+other side of the door? (According to Maeterlinck--or is it Owen
+Seaman?--there is always some one on the other side of a door.)
+
+At a casual glance Woodville seemed the conventional type of a
+good-looking young Englishman, tall, fair-haired, and well built. He
+possessed, however, a forehead unnecessarily intellectual; and a
+sparkle of more than mere animal spirits lurked in the depths of his
+dark brown eyes. An observer would also have noticed that his mouth and
+chin had something of the stern and sad look of fatalism that one sees
+in the pictures of Rossetti and Burne-Jones. He had the unmistakable
+public-school and University hall-mark, and if he had been fairly liked
+at Eton, at Oxford, where (as Mr. Max Beerbohm so rightly says) the
+nonsense knocked out of one at school is carefully and painlessly put
+back, Woodville was really popular, and considered remarkably clever,
+capable of enjoying, and even of conceiving, Ideas. Detesting the
+ready-made cheap romantic, and yet in vague search of the unusual, he
+often complained bitterly that his history--so far--was like the little
+piece of explanation of the plot (for those who have missed it) at the
+beginning of a chapter of a feuilleton in the _Daily Mail_. It was
+rather hard to have to admit that he had been left an orphan at three
+years old and adopted by his bachelor uncle, a baronet called Sir Bryce
+Woodville, who had brought him up as his acknowledged heir, with the
+prospect of a big estate.
+
+Frank had gone with careless gaiety through school and college, when his
+apparently sane and kind relative, growing tired of romantic drama,
+suddenly behaved like a guardian in an old-fashioned farce. Instead of
+making his wife his housekeeper, as most men do, he made his housekeeper
+his wife. She was a depressing woman. In a year he had a son and heir,
+and within two months after this event, he died, leaving his nephew
+exactly one hundred pounds a year.
+
+This curiously unpractical joke taught the young man that absurdly
+improbable things are quite as liable to happen in real life as in weak
+literature.
+
+The legacy was, of course, abject poverty to a man who, having always
+had an exceptionally large allowance, had naturally never thought about
+money, and though Frank believed himself not to be extravagant because
+he had never made large debts, his ideas of the ordinary necessities of
+life were not conspicuously moderate, including, as they did, horses,
+hospitality, travel, Art, and at least the common decency of a jolly
+little motor of his own. He had often been warned by his uncle to spend
+the twenty thousand a year to which he was heir freely but not lavishly.
+
+Why Sir Bryce Woodville had shown so sudden and marked an interest in a
+child he had known but for two months (and who had screamed most of
+that time), preferring him to a young man of talent and charm for whom
+he had shown indulgent affection for twenty-two years, was one of those
+mysteries that seem unsolvable in elderly gentlemen in general and in
+wicked uncles in particular. Sir Bryce had always been particularly fond
+of young people, and certainly greater youth and the nearer relationship
+were obviously the only points in which the son had the advantage over
+the nephew.
+
+When Woodville found himself really hard up he sought a certain
+consolation in trying to do without things and in the strenuous hourly
+endeavour to avoid spending sixpence; no easy task to a man whose head
+was always in the clouds and his hand always in his pocket. As a novelty
+even economy may have its pleasures, but they are not, perhaps to all
+temperaments, either very sound or very lasting.
+
+At the moment when omnibuses, cheap cigarettes, and self-denial were
+beginning to pall he had accepted the offer of the secretaryship,
+intending to look about to try to get something more congenial; perhaps
+to drift into diplomacy. Nothing could be less to his taste than the
+post of shorthandwriter to a long-winded old gentleman, to writing out
+speeches that in all probability would never be made, and copying
+pamphlets that would (most fortunately) never be printed. Often he
+thought he would rather "break stones on the road," drive a hansom cab,
+or even go on the stage, than be the superfluous secretary of such a
+dull, though dear nonentity.
+
+Woodville also went in for painting: he had a little talent and a great
+deal of taste, sufficient, indeed, to despise his own work though he
+enjoyed doing it. In his leisure time he even tried to make money by
+copying old masters, and often sold them for quite amazing prices
+(amazingly low, I mean) to a few people who honestly preferred them to
+the originals on the undeniable grounds that they were at once cleaner
+and less costly. He was ambitious and knew he had brains and energy,
+besides being rather unusually well-turned-out in the matter of culture.
+And yet he had remained at Onslow Square for five years! As a career it
+was nothing. It could lead to nothing. Was there, then, some other
+attraction, something that outweighed, transcended for him all the petty
+pangs and penalties of his position?
+
+This arch surmise of the writer will be found by the persevering reader
+to be perfectly reasonable and founded on fact.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+A LOVE SCENE
+
+
+There was a knock at the door. Woodville looked up. It was Sylvia.
+
+Sylvia had that curious gift, abstract beauty, the sort of beauty that
+recalls vaguely some ideal or antique memory. Hence, at various times
+various people had remarked on her striking resemblance to Helen of
+Troy, Cleopatra, Dante's Beatrice, the Venus of the Luxembourg, one of
+Botticelli's angels, and La Giaconda!
+
+Her head was purely Greek, her hair, fine in texture, and in colour
+golden-brown, grew very low in thick ripples on a broad forehead. The
+illusion of the remote or mythical was intensified by the symmetry of
+her slim figure, by her spiritual eyes, and beautiful, Pagan mouth. Tall
+and slender, her rounded arms and fine hands with their short pointed
+fingers seemed to terminate naturally in anything she held, such as a
+fan or flower, or fell in graceful curves in her lap. Sylvia had not the
+_chiffonnee_ restless charm of the contemporary pretty woman; she did
+not, like Felicity, arouse with stimulating intensity one's sense of the
+modern.
+
+Goddess, heroine, or angel she might be (her height, indeed, suggested
+heaven rather than hockey). Her beauty was of other days, not of the
+Summer Number. She was not, however, to do her justice, intentionally
+picturesque. She did not "_go in for the artistic style_"; that is to
+say, she did not part her hair and draw it over her ears, wear
+oddly-shaped blouses and bead necklaces, and look absent. The iron had
+obviously entered into her hair (or into every seventh wave, at least,
+of her hair), and her dresses fitted her as a flower its sheath. She was
+natural, but not in the least wild; no primrose by a river's brim, nor
+an artificial bloom, but rather a hothouse flower just plucked and very
+carefully wired. Hence she was at once the despair of the portrait
+painters, who had never as yet been able to help making her look on
+canvas like a bad Leighton in a Doucet dress, and the joy of the
+photographers, who in her honour set aside their pillars and their
+baskets of flowers, their curtains and their picture hats, being certain
+that she would pose herself exquisitely, and that her lines were so
+right that not even a photographer could improve on them.
+
+Sylvia was so truly artistic in temperament and so extremely
+unpractical that it was not surprising she made an admirable
+housekeeper, having fortunately that inborn gift for organisation, and
+for seeing things on the whole, that is so much more important in home
+life than any small fussing about the unimportant details. And she would
+receive excuses from servants with a smile so sweet yet so incredulous
+that it disarmed deceit and made incompetence hide its head (or give
+notice).
+
+She came round to the writing-table, bent her head over his shoulder,
+and said in a low voice of emotion, as though it were a secret--
+
+"How are you getting on? Did you want me to find anything--an address,
+or anything?"
+
+He put his hand on hers and looked up at her. Then he looked away.
+
+"Don't, Sylvia. I wish you would go away. Or go to the other side of the
+room ... I can't stand it."
+
+"Oh, Frank! How rude and unkind!" But she was apparently not offended,
+as she blushed and smiled while she moved a little away. Then she said,
+looking at the cards--
+
+"Will the party be awful, do you think?"
+
+"No, it won't be bad. Except for me, of course. To see you talking to
+other people. Not that I really care, because I know you have to. And
+besides, you won't, will you?"
+
+"I promise I won't! I'll just be a hostess, and talk to old ladies, or
+stray girls, or perhaps just a few dull old married men."
+
+"I approve of that programme. But--of course I have no right to advise,
+and I may be entirely wrong--supposing you were to leave out the old
+married men? You will have to talk to all the clever young men, I am
+afraid. Don't go to supper with F. G. Rivers. That's all I ask. I
+couldn't bear it."
+
+"F. G. Rivers! Of course not! Felicity will do all that sort of thing.
+She has a talent for celebrities--like papa. But why on earth _mustn't_
+I go to supper with just F. G. Rivers?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. You can if you like. _I_ don't care," said Woodville
+jealously.
+
+"I thought he was a wonderfully clever novelist, tremendously successful
+and celebrated!"
+
+"Yes, I know. That's what I meant," Woodville said.
+
+"Aren't his books rather weird and uncanny ... and romantic,--all about
+local colour, and awfully cynical?"
+
+"How well you know what to say about things! _Weird!_ Delightful! I dare
+say that's what Rivers would expect a nice girl to say of his books. He
+spends half his time being afraid people should think his work is lurid,
+and the rest in being simply terrified that people should think it's
+not. He's very clever really, and a delightful companion."
+
+"Is he cynical?" she asked.
+
+"He's so sceptical, that he believes in everything, but especially hard
+work, like table-turning, crystal-gazing, and Sandow's exercises.... I
+was at Oxford with him, you know," Frank added explanatorily.
+
+"I see, it's an old affection. Anybody else I'm not to speak to?"
+
+"Nonsense, Sylvia; I want you to be charming to every one, of course. I
+believe in that sort of thing. It's the right atmosphere for a party.
+Don't think about _me_."
+
+"How can I help it?"
+
+Her grey eyes were reproachful.
+
+Woodville looked into them, then abruptly looked away.
+
+"What are you going to wear, Sylvia?"
+
+"My white satin, I think. Do you like it? Or don't you?"
+
+"No; it makes you look too much like a Gainsborough--or no, more like a
+Sargent--which is worse. I mean worse for me, of course."
+
+"Oh, dear! why am I always _like_ something? Well, what am I to wear,
+Frank? I've just ordered a sort of fluffy grey chiffon--like a cloud."
+
+"Wear that. You're always in the clouds, and I'm always looking up at
+them.... I hope it has a silver lining?"
+
+"Perhaps it has. I don't know yet, it hasn't come home. Felicity's going
+to wear a sort of Watteau-ish dress, pink and white and blue, you know.
+Of course, she won't wear any jewels--she never will. You see, Chetwode
+has such a lot of old ones in his family. She says she's afraid, if she
+did, the _Perfect Lady_ or _Home Chirps_ might say 'Lady Chetwode as
+usual appeared in the "Chetwode emeralds"'--or something idiotic of that
+sort."
+
+"How like her! Then just wear your string of pearls."
+
+"Mayn't I wear the little turquoise heart that you--didn't give me, the
+one I bought in the Brompton Road and gave it to myself from you, so
+that I could honestly say you hadn't?"
+
+"Better not, Sylvia. It looks as if it came out of a cracker. And we
+don't need any symbols and things, do we?"
+
+"Very well.... I'm afraid, Frank ... I shall have to go now."
+
+Woodville looked hurt.
+
+"What? Already! Then why did you waste the precious minutes alone in
+making epigrams about F. G. Rivers? He's such a good fellow too, I
+always got on with him at Oxford."
+
+"Did I make epigrams? How funny! I didn't know I could."
+
+She came a little nearer. Woodville said in a low voice, rather
+quickly--
+
+"You looked really divine just now through the window, with the
+hyacinths in your hands--like the goddess of something or other--spring,
+I suppose.... When I look at you, I understand all the old poetry. _To
+Amaryllis_ and Herrick--and--you know."
+
+"Dear Frank!... Am I to find an address?"
+
+"You can't, dearest. There is no address. Besides, they've moved. And I
+found it myself ever so long ago."
+
+She laughed.
+
+"Oh, Frank!"
+
+Woodville put his hand out and took hers.
+
+"Oh, don't go just yet!" he said imploringly.
+
+"Why, you told me to go away just now--or to the other side of the
+room!"
+
+"Ah, but that was ages ago! Why, you haven't _been_ here two minutes!
+You can't be in such a hurry.... Anyhow, come here a second."
+
+She obeyed, and leant over his shoulder.... Then he said abruptly--
+
+"Yes, you had better go."
+
+Blushing, she glided away at once, without another word.
+
+Woodville remained at the desk, looking a little pale, and frowning. He
+had a theory that he was a very scrupulous man, with a high sense of
+honour. It was a worrying theory.
+
+With a sigh he returned to the invitation cards.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+"AUNT WILLIAM"
+
+
+Mrs. William Crofton, the widow of Sir James's brother, was, in her own
+way, quite a personage in London; at least, in the London that she knew.
+We have already seen her in the photograph in Savile's possession taken
+some forty years ago (by Mayall and Son, at Brighton). She was now an
+elderly lady, and still occupied the large ugly house in South Audley
+Street, where the children remembered their Uncle Mary. Felicity,
+Sylvia, and Savile had chosen to reverse the order in which they were
+told to speak of their uncle and aunt. Felicity had pointed out that not
+only was Aunt William more like an uncle, but that by this ingenious
+device they dodged a kind of history lesson. The great object always was
+to counteract carefully any information conveyed to them during the time
+of their education. All historians and teachers alike were regarded as
+natural enemies from Pinnock to Plato. On the same principle, Savile
+would never eat _Reading_ biscuits, because he feared that some form of
+condensed study was being insidiously introduced into the system. Boys
+had to be on their guard against any treachery of that kind.
+
+If there were a certain charm in the exterior of this old house--solid
+and aggressively respectable--its interior gave most visitors at first a
+nervous shock. Aunt William still firmly believed aestheticism to be
+fashionable, and a fad that should be discouraged. Through every varying
+whim of the mode she had stuck, with a praiseworthy persistence, to the
+wax flowers under glass, Indian chessmen, circular tables in the centre
+of the room, surrounded by large books, and the rep curtains (crimson,
+with green borders) of pre-artistic days. Often she held forth to
+wondering young people, for whom the 1880 fashions were but an echo of
+ancient history, on the sad sinfulness of sunflowers and the fearful
+folly of Japanese fans. Had the poor lady been but a decade or two more
+old-fashioned she would have been considered quaint and up-to-date. (A
+narrow escape, had she only known it!)
+
+She was a small, pointed person, with a depressing effect of having
+(perhaps) been a beauty once, and she regarded Sylvia and Felicity with
+that mingled affection, pride, and annoyance compounded of a wish to
+serve them, a desire to boast of them, and a longing to bully them that
+is often characteristic of elderly relatives. The only special fault she
+found was that they were too young, especially Sylvia. Mrs. Crofton did
+not explain for what the girls were too young, but did her best to make
+Sylvia at least older by boring her to death about etiquette, religion,
+politics, cooking recipes, and kindred subjects. Aunt William was one of
+those rare women of theory rather than practice who prefer a menu to a
+dinner, and a recipe to either. Indeed, recipes were a hobby of hers,
+and one of her pleasures was to send to a young housekeeper some such
+manuscript as the following:--
+
+     "TO MAKE ELDERBERRY WINE REQUIRED--
+
+   Half a peck of ripe elderberries.
+   One and a half gallons of boiling water.
+
+      TO EACH GALLON OF JUICE
+
+   Three pounds of loaf sugar,
+   Four cloves,
+   Six allspice.
+
+Stalk the berries, put them into a large vessel with the boiling water,
+cover it closely, and leave for twenty-four hours," and so on.
+
+To one person she was quite devoted--her nephew Savile.
+
+One morning Aunt William woke up at half-past seven, and complained to
+her maid that she had had insomnia for twenty minutes. Having glanced at
+the enlarged and coloured photograph of the late William that decorated
+every room, she ordered a luncheon of roast mutton and rice pudding,
+rhubarb tart and cream, almonds and raisins, and oranges, thinking that
+this menu would be at once suitable and attractive to a boy of sixteen.
+In a more indulgent moment she then sent out for a large packet of
+milk-chocolate, and prepared to receive Savile at lunch.
+
+When Savile arrived in his father's motor, Mrs. Crofton, who had been
+looking out for him at the window, ran up to her room (she could run
+when alone) and allowed him to be shown into the drawing-room by
+himself. Aunt William resented automobiles as much as she disliked
+picture postcards, week-ends, musical comedies, and bridge.
+
+Savile walked up and down the enormous room, lost in thought, and
+scarcely observing his surroundings. He smiled slightly as he
+contemplated the portrait of Uncle Mary, who was represented as leaning
+rather weakly for support against a pedestal that looked by no means
+secure, with a heavy curtain and a lowering sky in the background.
+
+"Jove! what short frock-coats those chaps wore!" thought Savile. "What
+rotters they must have been!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And so Lord Chetwode is out of town again?" Aunt William said, as they
+sat over dessert.
+
+"Gone to Newmarket."
+
+"I see in the _Morning Post_ that your sister Sylvia was at Lady
+Gaskaine's last night. I suppose she was the belle of the ball." She
+offered him some preserved ginger.
+
+"No, she wasn't. There's no such thing as a belle of the ball now, Aunt
+William. She danced with Heath and Broughton, of course, and Caldrey,
+and those chaps. Broughton took her to supper."
+
+Aunt William seemed gratified.
+
+"Curious! I recollect Lord Broughton in kilts when he was a little
+toddling pet of seven! His father was considered one of the most
+fascinating men of his day, my dear. What a beautiful place Broughton
+Hall is!" She pressed another orange on him.
+
+"Oh, Sylvia's all right," said Savile, impartially declining the fruit
+and producing an aluminium cigarette-case. Aunt William, pretending not
+to see it, passed him the matches as if in a fit of absence of mind. As
+a matter of fact, Savile was really more at home with Aunt William than
+with any one, even his sisters.
+
+"And now, my dear boy, tell me about yourself."
+
+Savile took out of his pocket the envelope containing her photograph.
+
+"I say, I took this out of the album last time I came," he said
+apologetically.
+
+Aunt William almost blushed. She was genuinely flattered.
+
+"But what's that--that green book I see in your pocket? I suppose it's
+Euclid, or Greek, or something you're learning."
+
+"No, it's not; it's poetry. A ripping poem I've just found out. I know
+you like that sort of rot, so I brought it for you."
+
+Her face softened. Savile was the only person who knew her romantic
+side.
+
+"A poem!" she said in a lowered voice. "Oh, what is it about?"
+
+"Oh, about irises, and how 'In the Spring a Young Man's Fancy,' that
+sort of thing--Tennyson, you know."
+
+"Tennyson!" exclaimed Aunt William. "Do you know Eliza Cook? I think
+'The Old Armchair' one of the loveliest poems in the language."
+
+"Never heard of it."
+
+"Savile," said Aunt William, when they were sitting by the fire in the
+drawing-room, "I'm glad you're fond of poetry. Have you ever written any
+at all? You needn't be ashamed of it, my dear boy, if you have. I
+admire sentiment, but only up to a certain point, of course."
+
+"Well, it's odd you should say that. I wrote something yesterday. I say,
+you won't go and give it away, Aunt William?"
+
+"Most certainly not!"
+
+She grew animated.
+
+"Show it to me, if you have it with you. A taste for literature is in
+the family. Once a second cousin of ours--you never knew him--wrote me a
+sonnet!"
+
+"Did he, though? Well, I dare say it was all right. Here's my stuff. I
+rather thought I'd consult you. I want to send it to some one."
+
+Concealing his nervousness under a stern, even harsh demeanour, Savile
+took out a folded sheet of paper from a brown pigskin letter-case.
+
+Aunt William clasped her hands and leaned forward.
+
+Savile read aloud in an aggressive, matter-of-fact manner the following
+words:----
+
+   "My singing bird, my singing bird,
+    Oh sing, oh sing, oh sing, oh sing to me,
+    Nothing like it has ever been heard,"
+
+(Here he dropped the letter-case, and picked it up, blushing at the
+contents that had fallen out.)
+
+   "And I do love to hear thee sing."
+
+His aunt looked a little faint. She leant back and fanned herself,
+taking out her smelling-salts.
+
+"That's not all," said Savile. Warming to his work, he went on more
+gruffly:--
+
+   "What should I do if you should stop?
+    Oh wilt thou sing for me alone?
+    For I will fly to hear your notes:
+    Your tune would melt a heart of stone."
+
+"My gracious, my dear, it's a poem!" said Aunt William.
+
+"Who said it wasn't? But you can't judge till you've heard the whole
+thing."
+
+She turned away her head and struggled with a smile, while he read the
+last verse defiantly and quickly, growing rather red:--
+
+   "I haven't got a stony heart
+    Or whatever it is, it belongs to you:
+    I vow myself thy slave,
+    And always I shall e'er be true!"
+
+There was an embarrassed pause.
+
+"Well, I really think that last line is rather pretty," said Aunt
+William, who had regained her self-control. "But do you think it is
+quite--"
+
+"Is it all right to send to Her?" he said. "That's the point!"
+
+"Well, I can hardly say. Would your father----"
+
+"I say! You're not going to tell the Governor?"
+
+"No, never, Savile dear. It shall be our secret," said Aunt William,
+reassuringly.
+
+"Of course, I know this sort of thing is great rot," he said
+apologetically, "but women like it."
+
+"Oh, do they really?" said Aunt William. "Well! what I always say is, if
+you're born with a gift, you should cultivate it!"
+
+Savile (thinking this encouragement rather meagre) replaced the poem and
+said: "I shall have to be going now, Aunt William. Got an appointment."
+
+"With whom, my dear?"
+
+"Yes," said Savile dryly. He did not approve of this direct method of
+ascertaining what one wants to know. He would confide, but never
+answered questions. She accepted the hint, but would not acknowledge it.
+
+"Ah, I see!" she said knowingly (wishing she did). "Well, if you must
+go, you must!"
+
+"Yes, Aunt William."
+
+"But before you go, about that party ... I'm coming, of course. In fact,
+I'm having my peach brocade done up. Tell dear Sylvia that if there's
+anything I can do--I mean in the way of helping her with regard to the
+supper----"
+
+"We've telephoned to Benoist's. It's all fixed up. Thanks very much."
+
+"Oh! But still I think I'll send my recipe for salmon mayonnaise. Don't
+you think I might?"
+
+"It can't do any harm, when you come to think of it," he answered,
+getting up.
+
+Before he left, Aunt William pressed a sovereign into his hand guiltily,
+as if it were conscience money. He, on his side, took it as though it
+were a doctor's fee, and both ignored the transaction.
+
+"Tell your father I'm sure I shall enjoy his entertainment, though why
+on _earth_ he still lives in Onslow Square, when he ought to be in
+London, I can't and never shall, understand. However, I believe there's
+quite a sort of society in Kensington, and no doubt _some_ of the right
+people will be there. Are any of the Primrose League coming, do you
+know, Savile?"
+
+"Sure to be. There's Jasmyn Vere for one."
+
+"Oh, Lord Dorking's son. He's a Knight Harbinger."
+
+"Is he, though? He looks like a night porter," said Savile. "Good-bye."
+He then turned back to murmur. "I say, Aunt William. Thanks most
+awfully." She went back smiling.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A few minutes later Savile was looking over the railings into Berkeley
+Square.
+
+In a kind of summer-house among the trees sat a little girl of fourteen
+dressed in grey. She wore a large straw hat on her head and a blue bow
+in her hair, and had evidently provided herself with materials of
+amusement for the afternoon, for she had a "picture-postcard album" by
+her side, and seemed absorbed in a thick volume of history.
+
+Dolly Clive resembled in expression and the shape of her face one of Sir
+Joshua's angel's heads (if one could imagine them brunettes). She had
+large brown eyes and a long black plait, and was a graceful example of
+what was formerly called "the awkward age." It needed no connoisseur to
+see that she was going to be a very pretty woman. When she saw Savile,
+she rushed to the gate and let him in with a key.
+
+"Hallo, Dolly!"
+
+"I say, Savile, wasn't King Charles the Second an angel? I've just been
+reading all about him, and you can't think what fun they used to have!"
+
+He seemed surprised at this greeting, walked slowly with her to the
+arbour, and said rather suspiciously----
+
+"Who had fun?"
+
+"Why Lady Castlemaine, and Nell Gwynne, and the Duchess of
+Portsmouth,--and all those people. It says so here, if you don't believe
+it! I wish I'd lived at that time."
+
+"I don't. There's fun now, too."
+
+"Ah, but you don't know anything about it, Savile. I bet you anything
+you like you can't tell me those clever lines about the poor darling
+King's death!"
+
+"Of course I can. Everybody knows them." Savile made an effort and then
+said, "You mean Fain would I climb but that ..."
+
+"Oh no, no, no! Oh, good gracious, no! One more try, now."
+
+"Had I but served my God as faithfully as I have served my king ..."
+
+"Wrong again. That's Sir Philip Sidney," she said, shutting up the book
+with a bang. "It's
+
+   Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King
+   Whose word no man relies on ..."
+
+"I say, old girl, I didn't come here to talk history, if you don't
+mind."
+
+"Well, what do you want to talk about? Shall I show you my new one of
+Zena Dare?" said Dolly, opening the postcard album.
+
+"Certainly not. I can't worry about Zena Dare. No, I've got something to
+tell you--something rather serious. Zena Dare, indeed! What next?"
+
+"Oh dear, are you in a bad temper?"
+
+"How like a woman! No, I'm _not_ in a bad temper. Talking sense doesn't
+show that one's in a bad temper. But it's a beastly thing to have to
+do."
+
+Dorothy sat on both the books, came nearer to Savile, and looked rather
+pale, tactfully waiting, in silence.
+
+Then suddenly he said in a different tone, quite cheerily----
+
+"That's rather jolly, the way that blue bow is stuck in your hair,
+Dolly."
+
+"I thought you wanted to talk sense, Savile. What is it? Have you found
+out--anything?"
+
+"What do you mean? Yes, I've jolly well found out that I can't be
+engaged to you any more. I've no right to be."
+
+She did not seem overwhelmed by the news.
+
+"Fancy! Just fancy! Oh--I see. Is there some one else? Who is it,
+Savile?"
+
+He smiled in his most superior way.
+
+"My dear child, people don't go about mentioning women's names. Now look
+here, Dolly, I meant to be straight, so I told you right out."
+
+She smiled.
+
+"I wonder what sort of girl she is! Well, it can't be Gladys: she's much
+too hideous. That's _one_ comfort!"
+
+"You're right, it can't. Besides, it's not."
+
+"Well, Savile, you're a dear good boy to come and tell me about it. And,
+the fact is, I was just wanting to tell you myself that perhaps we had
+better not be engaged any more. Just be pals instead, you know."
+
+"Who's the man?" He spoke sternly.
+
+She began to talk very volubly.
+
+"You know those people whom we met at Dinard last summer, the de Saules?
+They're French, you know. Well, Madame de Saules,--you can't think how
+pretty she is,--and dear little Therese, and Robert have just come over
+here for the season. Therese is such a darling. You would love her. Only
+a kid, of course, you know, but...."
+
+"And what price this beastly French boy? Now, listen to me. Foreigners
+are all rotters. I can tell you that if you're engaged to him you'll
+live to regret it. I speak as a friend, Dolly."
+
+"Oh dear no! We're not engaged! You don't understand! Private
+engagements are not the proper thing in France. It isn't done. _Oh_ no!
+Why, his mother would write to my mother and then he would send a
+bouquet, or something, and then----"
+
+"A bouquet! By Jove! Why, you're more prehistoric than Aunt William!
+Well, look here, if this little blighter keeps his place I shan't
+interfere. But, mind you, if I see the smallest sign of----"
+
+He rose to his feet.
+
+"Of what?" said Dolly, rising and looking angry. "He's a nice, handsome,
+polite, dear boy. So there!"
+
+"I should only wring his neck, that's all. Good-bye, old girl."
+
+They walked to the gate together.
+
+"It's only for your good, you know, Dolly. I don't mean to be a brute."
+
+"Oh, it's all right, Savile."
+
+"Dolly, dear."
+
+"Yes, Savile."
+
+"I'm awfully fond of you, really."
+
+"Of course, I know, dear boy. Come again when you can, won't you?"
+
+"_Won't_ I?" said Savile.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ARTHUR MERVYN AT HOME
+
+
+Sometimes Sir James would confide in his secretary, and become after
+dinner--he drank port--pompously communicative on the subject of the
+alliances his daughter might contract--if she would. As he became more
+and more confidential in fact, he would grow more and more distant in
+manner, so that if they began dinner like old friends, they seemed
+gradually to cool into acquaintances; and at the end of the
+evening--such an evening!--Woodville felt as if they had barely been
+introduced, or had met, accidentally, in a railway train. Yet he courted
+these _tete-a-tete_ as one perversely courts a certain kind of
+suffering. At least, Sir James talked on the _only_ interesting subject,
+and Woodville was anxious to know everything about his rivals; for,
+though he believed in Sylvia's affection, he was subject to acute,
+almost morbid, attacks of physical jealousy. To see other men admire her
+was torture, particularly as he had to efface himself and be treated by
+her father as a faithful vassal.
+
+And he really disliked deceiving Sir James, whose open liking was
+evident and who thought him matrimonially as much out of the question as
+the gardener.
+
+"Hang it all, Woodville's a gentleman!" Sir James would have cried
+furiously at any suggestion that it was imprudent to leave the young man
+and Sylvia so much together. Sir James always remembered that Woodville
+was a gentleman and forgot that he was a man.
+
+Men who indulge in inexpensive cynicism say that women are complex and
+difficult to understand. This may be true of an ambitious and hard
+woman, but nothing can be more simple and direct than a woman in love.
+
+Sylvia suffered none of Woodville's complications. She did not see why
+he should want to run away with her, still less why he should run away
+from her. Nothing could be wrong in her eyes connected with her love,
+for it was also her religion. Like most girls who can love at all, her
+life consisted, in fact, of this emotion only. She might go to the
+stores, wave her hair, buy new hats, ride in the Park, order dinner for
+her father (with great care, for he was a gourmet), read innumerable
+books (generally falling back on Swinburne and Ella Wheeler Wilcox),
+receive and meet innumerable people, go to the opera, and do many other
+agreeable, tedious, or trivial things; but her life was her love for
+Woodville. And she had all the courage and dignity of real
+self-surrender. Whatever he did was right. Whatever he said was clever.
+Everything was perfect, so long as he was _there_. To his scruples,
+despairs, delights, and doubts she always answered that, after all, they
+were only privately engaged, like heaps of people. And since Woodville
+had this peculiar--she secretly thought insane--objection to marrying
+her because she was an heiress and he was poor, then they must wait.
+Something would happen, and all was sure to come right. She did not wish
+to tell her father of the understanding at present, because she feared
+Woodville would probably have to go away at once. They would tell him
+when she was twenty-one. Only one year, and everything would be open and
+delightful.
+
+A strong motive that kept Woodville there was jealousy. Sylvia, discreet
+as she was--no sparkling, teasing coquette--had yet all the irresistible
+magnetism of a woman who is obviously made for tenderness. But she
+showed as much deftness in keeping back her admirers as most girls do in
+attracting them. She had curious deep delicacies; she disliked nothing
+so much as to feel or show her power as a woman. Pride or vanity was
+equally out of the question in her love; it was unselfish and yet it was
+not exacting, as unselfish love generally is. So far as she knew, no
+unselfishness was required from him. With the unconscious cruelty of
+innocence she had kept him in this false position for years, looking
+happily forward to a rose-coloured future.
+
+Was it consistent that, with all his scruples, Woodville had drifted
+into this romance?
+
+A lovely girl of twenty and a remarkably good-looking young man of
+twenty-eight meeting every day, every moment, at every meal--she,
+romantic; he, the most impressionable of materialists! Surely nothing
+could be expected but (for once) the obvious!
+
+The Greek banker, Mr. Ridokanaki, said to be one of the richest men in
+England, had of late begun to pay Sylvia what he considered marked
+attention. Huge baskets of flowers, sometimes in the form of silver
+ships, sometimes of wicker wheelbarrows, or of brocaded sedan-chairs,
+and filled with orchids, lilies, roses, everything that, in the opinion
+of a middle-aged banker, would be likely to dazzle and delight a nice
+young girl, were sent periodically to Onslow Square. These floral
+tributes flattered Sir James and Savile; Woodville said they were
+hideous; and Sylvia (who neither wrote to thank their sender nor even
+acknowledged them) always had them conveyed immediately to the
+housekeeper's room. The Greek's intention of marrying Sylvia was in the
+air. Woodville, Sylvia, and Savile were perhaps the only people who
+doubted the event's coming off. Ridokanaki was a small, thin, yet rather
+noticeable-looking man of fifty, with courteous cosmopolitan manners. He
+had a triangular face, the details of which were vague though the
+outline was clear, like a negative that had been left too long in the
+sun. His slight foreign accent suggested diplomacy rather than the City;
+he was a man of the world, had travelled everywhere, and had the
+reputation of knowing absolutely everything. He was firm but kind--the
+velvet hand beneath the mailed fist--irritatingly tactful, outwardly
+conventional, _raffine_, and rather tedious.
+
+He called occasionally on Thursdays (Sylvia's day). Woodville was
+usually having jealous palpitations in the library while Ridokanaki
+talked strong, vague politics with Sir James, and drank weak tea poured
+out by Sylvia (who always forgot that he never took sugar). After these
+visits the powerful will of the Greek seemed to have asserted itself
+without a word. It was his habit to express all his ideas in the most
+hackneyed phrases except when talking business, so that he seemed
+surprisingly dull and harmless, considering how much he _must_ know,
+how much he must have seen and done. He had practically made his immense
+fortune, and many people said that in his own line he was brilliant. It
+was also often said of him (with surprise), "all the same Ridokanaki is
+a very simple creature, _when you know him_." No one, however, had ever
+yet really known him quite well enough to prove or justify this
+description.
+
+In the cumbrous continental fashion he was working up to the point of a
+proposal, and something seemed to herald his future success. The
+servants were all looking forward to the wedding. Only Price, the
+footman, sometimes put in a word for poor Mr. Woodville. To say that the
+romance was known and discussed with freedom in the servant's hall
+should be needless. The illusion that domestics are ever in the dark
+about what we fondly suppose to be our little secrets is still immensely
+prevalent among persons who are young enough to know better.
+
+"All I can say is, that's the man I'd marry if _I_ were a young lady,
+whether or no," Price would say, sometimes adding, "With all his flowers
+and motors, what _is_ the other gent after all but a sort of foreigner?
+Mr. Woodville is the nephew of an English baronet. Give me an
+Englishman!"
+
+To this the housemaid would reply--
+
+"Foreigner or no foreigner, Miss Sylvia is no fool; and, mark my words,
+she would look all right in that house in Grosvenor Square!"
+
+These dark sayings silenced Price, but they did not succeed in chilling
+his romantic enthusiasm, though the other servants took the more worldly
+view. Much as they liked Woodville, it could not be forgotten that
+Ridokanaki had the agreeable habit (at times practised by Jupiter with
+so much success) of appearing invariably in a shower of gold.
+Trillionaire though he was, no hard-up nobleman could be more lavish,
+especially in small things. Nowadays the romance of wealth is more
+fascinating than the romance of poverty, even in the servants' hall. And
+Ridokanaki was not, as they remarked, like one of those mere parvenus
+from South Africa or America. Belonging to an old Greek family of
+bankers who had been wealthy for generations, he had recently made a
+personal position that really counted in European politics. It had been
+rumoured that he might have married into a Royal if not particularly
+regal family. What he had done for Greece and England was hinted at, not
+generally known.
+
+Sylvia's impersonal attitude, so obviously genuine, was a refreshing
+change to a man who had been for years invited with so much assiduity
+and who knew that he was still regarded in London not without hope as a
+splendid match. Surely, he would suddenly turn round, settle down, and
+look for a refined and beautiful wife to be head of his house.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was a feeling in the air that Sir James's party, with its White
+Viennese Band, its celebrities, and general elaborate preparations, was
+really intended to be a background for the declaration. Undoubtedly, he
+would propose that night. All Sylvia thought about was, that she meant
+to wear the grey chiffon dress that Woodville liked, and he would think
+she looked pretty. She intended to conceal the little turquoise heart
+that she had bought herself (_from him_) in the Brompton Road in her
+dress, and to tell him about it afterwards.
+
+To Felicity, the party was, like all entertainments, a kind of arena.
+What is commonly called flirting, and what _she_ called bowling people
+over, she regarded as a species of field-sport. Her heart might ache a
+little under the Watteau-ish dress, because it appeared that nothing on
+earth would induce darling Chetwode to return from Newmarket. When
+Sylvia said gently she feared wild horses would not persuade him to come
+back, Felicity answered, with some show of reason, that wild horses were
+not likely to try. Indeed, little Felicity was rather depressed. What
+was the fun of bowling people over, like so many ninepins, unless dear
+Chetwode, her usual admiring audience, were there to see them
+overthrown? However, no doubt, it would be fun. Felicity's view of life
+was that it was great fun. As she had never had any real troubles, she
+had not yet discovered that a sense of humour adds acutely to one's
+sufferings at the time, though it may help recovery. To see the
+absurdity of a grief increases it. It entirely prevents that real
+enjoyment in magnifying one's misfortunes in order to excite
+sympathy--an attribute so often seen in women, from char-woman to
+duchess. But Felicity was not destined to misfortune. Ridokanaki
+sometimes compared her to a ray of sunshine, and her sister to a
+moonbeam. The comparison, if not startlingly original, was fairly just.
+Felicity retorted by saying that the Greek was like a wax-candle burnt
+at both ends and in the middle, while Woodville resembled a carefully
+shaded electric light. She was anxious to know the words in which
+Ridokanaki would propose, and had already had several rehearsals of the
+scene with her sister, inducing Sylvia sometimes to refuse and sometimes
+to accept, just to see how it went. Felicity said that if he were
+rejected the marriage would in the end be a certainty, as a little
+difficulty would gratify and surprise him, and make him "_bother about
+it_" more. Everything was generally made so easy for him that he would
+certainly enjoy a little trouble, and the idea of obtaining a girl
+rather against her inclination would be sure to appeal to him.
+Opposition in such matters is always attractive to a spirited
+second-rate man.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All the preparations being complete, Woodville, part of whose absurd
+duties was to make quantities of unnecessary lists and go over the wine,
+went, the day before the party, to see a friend of his, where the
+atmosphere was so entirely different from his own that he regarded these
+visits as a change of air.
+
+"Mr. Mervyn in?"
+
+"Oh yes, sir. There's a rehearsal to-day. So Mr. Mervyn has lunched
+early."
+
+A deep voice called from the inner room--
+
+"Hallo, Frank! Come in, old chap!"
+
+Arthur Mervyn had been at school and at Balliol with Woodville, and was
+one of his favourite companions. The only son of a great tragic actor,
+he possessed much of the genius of his late father, from whom he
+inherited, also, his finely-cut features, like some old ivory carving,
+his coal-black hair, and that sweet, humorous, yet sardonic smile that
+relieved, like a sparkle in dark waters, his somewhat sinister good
+looks.
+
+Arthur Mervyn lived in a large, luxuriously furnished flat in
+Bloomsbury. The decorations were miracles of Morris: obviously they
+dated back about twenty years ago. Mervyn was not, however, a young man
+who was keen about his surroundings: he was indifferent to them; they
+had been chosen by his father, to whom background and all visible things
+had been of the first importance. The faintly outlined involuted plants
+on the wall-papers, the black oak friezes and old prints gave Arthur
+neither more nor less pleasure than he would have received from striped
+silk, white paint, and other whims of Waring. There were no swords,
+foils, signed photographs of royalties, pet dogs, or babies, invitation
+cards on the mantelpiece, nor any of the other luxuries usually seen in
+illustrated papers as characteristic of "Celebrities at Home". A palm,
+on its last legs, draped in shabby green silk, was dying by the window.
+The gloom was mitigated by an air of cosiness. There were books,
+first-rate and second-hand. Books (their outsides) were a hobby with
+Mervyn. Smoking in this den seemed as natural as breathing, and rather
+easier, though its owner never touched tobacco. On the Chesterfield sofa
+there was one jarring note. It was a new, perfectly clean satin cushion,
+of a brilliant salmon-pink, covered with embroidered muslin. Evidently
+it was that well-known womanly touch that has such a fatal effect in
+the rooms of a young man.
+
+Woodville found Mervyn neither studying a part, reading his notices, nor
+looking in the glass. He had, as usual, the noble air of a student
+occupied with an Idea, and seemed absorbed.
+
+"I say, Woodville, what do you think I've got?"
+
+"A piece of rope that somebody wasn't hanged with?" asked Woodville.
+Arthur's curious craze for souvenirs of crime was a standing joke with
+them both.
+
+"Better than that, old chap!" Mervyn spoke slowly, and always paused
+between each sentence. "What do you think I did yesterday? You know
+Jackson--chap who murdered people in a farm? I found out where he went
+to school in the north of England--and I said to myself--this fellow
+must have been photographed in a group as a boy."
+
+There was a pause, disproportionately long.
+
+"Sort of thing you _would_ say to yourself," said Woodville a little
+irritably, as he lit a cigarette.
+
+"Yes!--I took the 2.15--awful train. I went up there and went all over
+the school, called at the photographers--and actually got the group!
+And--there you are!"
+
+Mervyn seemed very animated on the subject, and clapped his friend
+several times on the back with short, delighted laughs.
+
+"By Jove!" said Woodville, looking at the photograph.
+
+"Why do you say 'By Jove!'?" asked Mervyn suspiciously.
+
+"Why? Well! I must say _something_! You always show me things on which
+no other comment is possible but an exclamation, or you tell me things
+so unanswerable that there's nothing to say at all."
+
+"So I do," admitted Mervyn, smiling, as he locked away the souvenir.
+Then he sat down, and his animation dropped to a calmness bordering on
+apathy.
+
+"And how are you getting on?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"Aren't you, though?" Mervyn pushed the matches sympathetically towards
+his friend, and seemed to fall into a reverie. Then he suddenly said,
+brightly: "I say, Woodville, you want cheering up. Come with me and
+see...."
+
+"My dear chap, I'm not in the mood for theatres."
+
+"Frank!" His friend looked at him with hurt reproach. "As though I'd
+_let_ you see me in this new thing they're bringing out! No.--But I've
+got a seat at the Old Bailey for to-morrow morning to see the trial;--I
+think I could take you."
+
+Woodville smiled.
+
+"I appreciate immensely your methods of cheering people, Arthur, and I
+know what that offer is from you. But I really don't care about it."
+
+"Don't you?--What _do_ you care about?"
+
+Woodville was silent. Then Mervyn said suddenly, "I say, how's Miss
+Crofton and her sister? I like little Lady Chetwode awfully. She's a
+pretty little thing, awfully amusing, and quite clever.--She's very keen
+on crime, too, you know."
+
+"Oh no, nonsense, Arthur! She only pretends to be, to humour you. It's
+chaff. She hates it, really."
+
+"Hates it! Does she, though?--Well, anyhow she promised to go with me to
+the Chamber of Horrors one day. Make up a party, you know. And she says
+she thinks all the criminals there have the most wonderful faces
+physiognomically; benevolent foreheads, kindly eyes, and that sort of
+thing; and then she said, well, perhaps any one _would_ look good with
+such lovely complexions as they have! She says _she_ would have been
+taken in! She would have engaged all the Hannahs--she says that
+murderesses are always called Hannah--as housekeepers, they looked so
+respectable--except for the glassy eye. Oh, we had a long talk. Yes, and
+she'll bring her sister. You might come, too, one afternoon."
+
+"Oh, of course I'll come. It would be rather jolly," said Woodville.
+
+"Well, when this new thing is once out we'll fix it up, eh? I shall see
+Lady Chetwode to-morrow--at your party."
+
+"Oh, are you coming?"
+
+"Oh, yes I'm going. Every one's going."
+
+At this moment they heard outside the house a tremendous uproar, the
+snorting, panting, puffing, and agonised throbbing that could only
+proceed from a motor in distress.
+
+"Who's that?" said Woodville, going to look out of the window.
+
+Mervyn closed his eyes and leant back in his chair.
+
+"It's nothing," he said. "It's Bertie--Bertie Wilton, you know."
+
+"Oh! Good. Bertie's always exhilarating."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+AN AGREEABLE RATTLE
+
+
+A moment later there entered the room a slim, good-looking young man of
+about twenty-five years old, whose eyes were very bright and whose
+clothes were very smart, and who gave the impression of being at once in
+the highest spirits and at least a year in advance of the very latest
+expression of the mode. He was very fair, clean shaven, with smooth
+blond hair, white teeth, and the most mischievous smile in London.
+
+Bertie Wilton had the reputation of being the wittiest of all the
+dandies, but his one great weakness was a mania for being _dans le
+mouvement_, and a certain contempt for any ideas, however valuable, that
+had been suggested earlier than, say, yesterday afternoon. Extremely
+good-natured, lively, and voluble, he was immensely popular, being
+considered, as indeed he was, one of the last of the conversationalists.
+He might be frivolous, but he was always interesting. He could talk
+about anything--and he did.
+
+"I didn't know you'd got a motor, Bertie," said Woodville.
+
+Wilton looked at it lovingly out of the window, arranged the gardenia in
+his button-hole, and said--
+
+"Oh yes! I'm mad on motors. I've had three! This is my new toy. It's a
+ripper, the only _right_ kind. It _can_ go, I'll say that for it. I've
+been fined twice for exceeding the speed limit already."
+
+"But you've never done anything else," said Woodville.
+
+Bertie laughed.
+
+"Ah! no; perhaps not. Well, anyway, I simply love it. I haven't even
+come here this morning _merely_ to see you, Mervyn, or on the off-chance
+of meeting old Woodville, but simply to try the new Daimler before
+lunching in it--at least, not exactly lunching _in_ it, but _with_
+it,--no, no, not _with_ it, you know what I mean--with the dearest old
+gentleman who lives in the wilds of West Kensington. He's simply devoted
+to me. Why, I can't think. But he's got a sort of idea that I saved his
+life on a hill near Hastings. What really happened was, that his idiot
+of a chauffeur had utterly smashed up the car, and he and the old
+gentleman were sitting on the Downs with every probability of remaining
+there for the rest of their natural lives!"
+
+"And this, I suppose, is where you came in," said Woodville.
+
+"Rather! I was spinning along from Brighton, and I saw those poor
+creatures in their pitiable position. To hop out of the motor, have an
+explanation with the old gentleman (who was stone deaf, by the way), to
+persuade him to come with me, to drive him to his _intensely_
+comfortable and charming country house in the heart of Hastings, and to
+send for a surgeon to attend to the internal injuries of the car, was,
+for me, the work of a moment! I made up quite a romance about the old
+gentleman. You're a reading man, Woodville, and so you know, from books,
+that the slightest politeness to an eccentric millionaire sets you up in
+gilded luxury for life, don't you? I expected, of course, that he would
+cut off his family with a shilling, and would leave me at the _very_
+least L20,000 a year. Isn't it funny, my being wrong? It turned out that
+he neither could nor would do anything of the sort. He was neither
+eccentric nor a millionaire--though he was very well off and very
+clever. But, perhaps you ask yourself, had he a lovely daughter, whose
+hand he would offer me in marriage? Not he! He has only a hideous
+married son and daughter-in-law who live in Manchester, and all I've
+got out of the adventure, so far, is lunching with him, and talking to
+him, and heaps of practice in shouting; he's so deaf. Besides, he's a
+dear."
+
+"What a wonderful chap you are! The last time I saw you, weren't you
+secretary to a foreign Duke, with a brilliant diplomatic future before
+you, or something?" said Woodville, while Mervyn appeared to be lost in
+thought.
+
+"I know, but that was _last_ season! Lots of people are just as keen as
+I am, you know. Broughton, for instance, has actually invented a car of
+his own. I once permitted myself to speak rather disrespectfully of
+Broughton's quite ridiculous car, and, of course, some kind friend told
+him practically every word I said; and he was quite hurt. We had a
+regular sort of scene about it."
+
+"What did you say against the car?" said Mervyn judicially, waking up.
+
+"Well, I may be wrong, but it seems to me that it isn't an ideally
+convenient arrangement (particularly for ladies) to have to climb into a
+motor, by means of a ladder, over the back! I understood that though
+Broughton's design had all sorts of capital new arrangements with regard
+to cushions and clocks and looking-glasses, and mud-guards, he had,
+_most_ unfortunately, quite forgotten the door.
+
+"Well, we met at the Bellairs' Fancy Ball (I went as Louis the
+Nineteenth) last week, you know, and had an explanation, and sort of
+made it up, but I'm afraid, like that uncomfortable old king, though he
+smiled at the jest, he never forgave the satire.
+
+"I say, I must fly now. I have to lunch with the old gentleman. Can I
+drop you anywhere, Woodville?"
+
+"I've got to be at the theatre at one, to rehearse," said Mervyn
+suddenly.
+
+"Then you must be quick, old boy. It's a quarter to two now," said
+Bertie.
+
+They took their leave.
+
+After many tender inquiries after its health from the chauffeur, Bertie
+sprang into the motor with Woodville, and they started off.
+
+"I say, Woodville," began Bertie, as they spun along, "I want to talk
+about Lady Chetwode. I'm awfully in love with her."
+
+"Didn't know you knew her."
+
+"I don't. That's nothing to do with it. You can be awfully in love with
+a person you don't know. In fact, I believe _I_ can be far more
+seriously devoted to a perfect stranger than to a woman I know
+personally. But I've often seen her at the Opera. And I'm _going_ to
+know her. I'm going to be brought to your party to-morrow night by Mrs.
+Ogilvie. Didn't you know? Tell me, why isn't Chetwode ever _there_?"
+
+"Don't be an ass! They're devoted to each other. Turtle-doves aren't in
+it."
+
+Bertie's eyes sparkled.
+
+"I _know_! I suppose he stays away for fear of her getting tired of him.
+Quaint idea. Never been done before quite like that. Well, it may be
+very clever, but I shouldn't do it! Frankly, I should always be there or
+thereabouts, at all risks! You don't seem to understand (knowing them so
+intimately, of course you wouldn't) what Lady Chetwode is going to be.
+Why, she's simply _the_ person already. I hear of her everywhere, and
+the sister, Miss Crofton; I saw her too the other night. She's quite
+beautiful. I don't believe they know what to do with her."
+
+"What on earth do you mean?" said Woodville.
+
+"My dear boy, I have my faults, but I have one little gift, and that is
+a _flair_ for success. It will be all very well for Miss Sylvia to marry
+the Greek man to begin with----"
+
+"Do you propose she should marry any one else to go on with then?"
+
+"Don't be absurd. I mean, of course, that would start her, and so on.
+He's a friend of exalted personages and that sort of thing, and it would
+certainly bring her forward. Although I think she could do better. But
+she ought to come out in tableaux or something and be really seen,
+quite soon; while she's a novelty."
+
+"I really think there's something wrong with your tonneau," said
+Woodville.
+
+Bertie smiled cheerfully. "Don't worry, my chauffeur's one of the best
+drivers in London. But, about tableaux; next month at Worcester
+House----"
+
+"Miss Crofton doesn't care about that sort of thing," said Woodville.
+
+"No? I heard she had rather a line of her own. What is her pose? She
+ought to settle on it. You know there is nothing so uncomfortable as not
+having settled on one's pose. Oh!" Bertie gave a start. "I beg your
+pardon. I see the whole thing! But of course! You're in love with her.
+What a fool I am!"
+
+"You are indeed. I see very little of Miss Crofton. You're generally
+positive, and always wrong."
+
+"Oh, is it as bad as that? My dear Woodville, I'm so sorry! What a
+tactless idiot I am! But Lady Chetwode, now. Her great friend, Vera
+Ogilvie, I know very well indeed. I met her last Tuesday, so she's quite
+an old friend. Mrs. Ogilvie's the pretty woman who thinks she has a
+Byzantine profile. She's all over strange jewels and scarabs, and uncut
+turquoises and things. She has a box on the second tier, and it was
+there that it all happened."
+
+"That what happened?"
+
+"Why, my falling in love at first sight; I mean, with Lady Chetwode, of
+course; and what makes me so bad is that I hear of her everywhere.
+Nothing worse than that! Her frocks and her mots,--it seems she's very
+clever, I hear, and says the most delightful things. And there's another
+thing, if I don't make a dash for it this season, I shan't have a chance
+next. I see that."
+
+"Didn't I tell you she's simply wrapped up in her husband?"
+
+"Of course. That's just the point. I don't know Chetwode, but he's the
+fellow who has the wonderful collection. First Empire things, and china,
+and all that. Besides, he goes racing. They say his horse has a chance
+of winning the Derby. Oh, you don't know what a distinguished family
+they are! Well, anyhow, you see he's busy, and if they _do_ have
+honeymoons every now and then--as no doubt they do--I really hardly see
+what that matters to me."
+
+"Frankly, nor do I," said Woodville.
+
+"No, indeed; I like it better, because I don't mind telling you I've got
+heaps of things on just now."
+
+"You look as if you had," said Woodville dryly.
+
+"Is this meant for an attack on my tie? You'll be wearing one like it
+yourself in a fortnight! Mrs. Ogilvie's great fun. Yesterday she took me
+with her and a sort of country girl, a clergyman's daughter from Earl's
+Court, to buy a hat at Lewis's; (for the girl I mean). It was
+_extraordinary_! The girl isn't at all bad-looking, but naturally wears
+her hair _perfectly_ flat, with a kind of knob at the back, the wrong
+kind. On the top of this the milliners stuck, first, the most enormous
+hat, eccentric beyond the dreams of the Rue de la Paix, all feathers,
+and said, Oh, quel joli mouvement, Madame! The poor girl, frightened to
+death, thinking the birds were alive, tore it off. So then they tried on
+those absurd, tiny, high, little things that require at least
+twenty-five imitation curls to keep them up, and show them off, and in
+which poor Miss Winter looked like an escaped lunatic. We tried
+everything in the shop, and at last Mrs. Ogilvie said, 'Perhaps we had
+better come again, later in the season, when the hats would be smaller,
+or not so large.'--Do you know Miss Winter? She has _rather_ pretty red
+hair, and a dazed intellectual expression. She's the sort of girl who
+can only wear a sailor hat (I never saw a sailor in a straw), as they
+call them, or perhaps something considered picturesque in the suburbs;
+you know, with skyblue _crepe de chine_ strings under the chin. If
+she'd only been an athletic girl we could have gone straight to Scott's,
+and then we should have known where we were--but she's artistic, poor
+thing." Bertie smiled mischievously.
+
+"Your valuable advice doesn't seem to have been much use, then?"
+
+"_Rather_ not! Especially as Mrs. Ogilvie has this craze about thinking
+she's Oriental (I wonder who put it into her head), and _would_ order
+absurd beaded things, like Roman helmets, when of course she'd look
+delightful in a dark claret-coloured velvet sort of Gainsborough, with
+dull brown feathers. But women are so perverse. Look how they won't wear
+black when nothing suits them so well!"
+
+"Won't they? I wonder you don't go into the millinery business. I think
+you'd do very well."
+
+"Don't talk rot. I'm only interested as an amateur; it's art for art's
+sake. But I _do_ understand frocks. I will say that I think women's
+dress is the only thing worth being really extravagant on. Don't you?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+They were now proceeding down Bond Street at a pace that the crowd
+compelled to be rather leisurely.
+
+"There's Aunt William in her old-fashioned barouche with the grey
+horses. It's _such_ a comfort to me, always, to see Mrs. Crofton; it
+makes one feel at least there is something stationary in this changeable
+world. Who's that boy looking at?--at you? Isn't it the Crofton boy?"
+
+"Yes. Let's stop a minute; I want to speak to him."
+
+Savile, seeing them, crossed the road, and said, before Bertie could
+begin--
+
+"Extraordinary weather for the time of--year!"
+
+"Come off the roof!" said Woodville, smiling. "What are you doing in
+Bond Street?"
+
+"Oh, only going to Chappell's, the music shop, to get a song. One of
+those Sylvia doesn't sing," said Savile, looking straight at him.
+
+"Oh, I know what it is," said Bertie; "it's Pale Hands that Burn, or
+Tosti's Good-bye!"
+
+"No, it just isn't."
+
+"Then it's something out of The Telephone Girl or something. Do tell us
+what it is. I hate these musical mysteries."
+
+"It's not a mystery at all. It's Home sweet Home," said Savile.
+
+They tried to persuade him to join them, but he walked off.
+
+"Delightful boy," said Bertie, after a moment. "So correct. I'm sure
+he's _the_ person at home, and spoilt, and does what he likes with them
+all, doesn't he? Of course, he's the person to be friends with if you
+want anything fixed up! Well, here we are at Onslow Square. It was jolly
+seeing you again. You must come for another longer spin soon. Isn't
+Mervyn a good chap? He's so really distinguished that it wouldn't ever
+matter what he wore, or where he went, or when. And you'd never _dream_
+he was an actor, would you?"
+
+"Not unless you saw him act," said Woodville, getting out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY
+
+
+Sir James was in one of those heroic moods that were peculiarly alarming
+to his valet. He was so abnormally good-tempered, and seemed so
+exceedingly elated about something, that it was probable he might
+suddenly, in Price's pathetic phrase, turn off nasty, or fly out.
+
+As a matter of fact, Sir James was dominated by what are called mixed
+feelings. The letter that he read and re-read as he walked about his
+library enchanted him. But the appearance of that library was maddening.
+It had been transformed into a ladies' cloak-room. On his own
+writing-desk were an oval silver mirror, a large powder-puff, and
+several packets of hairpins. All trace of politics seemed to have been
+completely wiped out. Sir James thoroughly enjoyed picturing to himself
+Mr. Ridokanaki in this room on the following morning, asking for a
+blessing, on his knees, and to fancy himself saying solemnly, "Take
+her, my boy, she is yours!" or words to that effect.
+
+Not only had the trillionaire sent Sylvia six feet of flowers in a
+gun-metal motor-car studded with sapphires, but Sir James, also, had
+received a respectful request (practically a species of royal command)
+for consent to his addresses. Ridokanaki stated that he had not as yet,
+of course, said anything to Sylvia, but proposed, unless her father
+objected, to try to win her fair hand that very evening. It was a
+triumph, even for Sylvia. Sir James laughed, as he only laughed when
+alone. But on looking up from the letter what he saw jarred on him. How
+he could well imagine the wrap that would be placed carelessly over the
+bust of Pitt in the corner, and all the cloaks and frivolous chiffons
+which would lie on that solemn study table! Rage had the upper hand. Sir
+James broke out, and rang the bell violently.
+
+"Price, where's Miss Crofton? Tell her I want her immediately. This
+instant! Lose no time. But tell her on no account to hurry. In fact, any
+time will do as long as she comes at once. Wait a moment, wait a moment.
+Don't be so precipitate, Price. You leave the room before you hear your
+orders. I've had to speak to you about this before.... Is Miss Crofton
+dressed yet?"
+
+"Yes, Sir James. Miss Crofton is quite ready. Lady Chetwode is with
+her."
+
+"Oh! then tell her it doesn't matter. She needn't trouble."
+
+"Yes, Sir James."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sisters were standing in Sylvia's pale blue bedroom in front of the
+long mirror. Felicity's fair, almost silvery hair, puffed out round her
+wilful little face, looked as though it were _poudre_. She wore a
+striped brocade gown all over rosebuds, and resembled a Dresden china
+figure. Sylvia's exquisitely modelled face and white shoulders emerged
+from clouds of grey tulle.
+
+"It's rather a shame, Sylvia; you'll bowl over everybody. Roy Beaumont
+will say you look mythological. Oh, and poor Mr. Ridokanaki! You'll
+refuse him to-night, I suppose! What fun it must be to be a pretty girl
+going about refusing people in conservatories--like a short story in a
+magazine! I've forgotten how I did it. In a year, darling? Quite. I say,
+have I overdone the dix-huitieme business? Do I look like a fancy ball?
+Pass me a hairpin, dear. No, don't. I suppose you know that Chetwode has
+never seen this dress! What do you think of _that_? One would think we
+were an old married couple."
+
+"Hardly, dear. Put it on to go and meet him at the station," said
+Sylvia, rather unpractically. "No, you're not too last-century. I think
+you look more like the next."
+
+"Well, I hope so," said Felicity, fluttering a tiny Pompadour fan; "and
+if De Valdez says I look like a Marquise of the olden times, as he once
+did, I simply won't stand it. Let's go down. But first tell me what you
+will say when Mr. Rid ... Oh, bother, I can't say all that. Let us call
+him the man. 'Miss Crofton, might I respectfully venture to presume to
+propose to hope to ask to have a word with you? You are like a grey
+rose', or something or other."
+
+"Oh, don't be absurd. Sometimes I think the whole thing is all your
+fancy, and Savile's."
+
+"My fancy! Then what was that enormous, immense thing in the hall I fell
+over--a sort of tin jewelled bath, crammed with orchids and carnations?
+Frank Woodville was helping Price to cart it away, and trying to break
+some of the flowers by accident."
+
+"Oh, was Mr. Woodville taking it away?" Sylvia smiled.
+
+At that moment a firm knock at the door, and the words, "I say, Sylvia,"
+announced Savile's entrance. He walked in slowly, brushed his sisters
+aside like flies, and stood looking at himself in the long mirror, which
+reached nearly from the ceiling to the floor. It was a solemn moment.
+He was wearing his very first evening-dress suit.
+
+They watched him breathlessly. He carefully kept every trace of
+expression out of his face. Then he sat down, and said seriously to
+himself--
+
+"Right as rain. You're all right, girls, too. Rather rot Chetwode not
+being here. Rather a pose, Felicity not wearing jewels. Why is the
+Governor in such a state? He's frightfully pleased about something. He
+flew out at me and said I ought to work for my button-holes, as he did.
+Really rather rot! I said, 'Well, father, a pink carnation's all right.
+The King wore one at Newmarket.' He said the _King_ could afford it.
+Cheek! Sylvia, I say, you _are_ all right! I'm going down."
+
+Suddenly remembering his broken heart, Savile paused at the door, caught
+Felicity's eye, and sighed with an effort, heavily. Then, with his usual
+air of polite self-restraint, out of proportion to the occasion, he left
+the room.
+
+Soon the White Viennese Band was tuning up, and the house, which was
+built like a large bungalow, decorated all over with crimson rambler
+rosebuds, looked very gay and charming. Sir James beamed as various
+names, more or less well known in various worlds, were incorrectly
+announced. Felicity went into a small room that had been arranged for
+conversation to see through the window that the garden had been
+artistically darkened for the occasion.
+
+In the room were several men. Roy Beaumont the young inventor with his
+calm face and inscrutable air was looking up as he spoke to De Valdez,
+the famous composer. Roy Beaumont wore minute boot-buttons on his cuffs
+and shirt front.
+
+De Valdez (more difficult to secure at a party than a Prime Minister)
+was a very handsome, unaffected, genial man who, though an Englishman,
+had much of the Spanish grandee in his manner and bearing. He had a
+great contempt for the smaller amenities of dress, and his thick curling
+hair made more noticeable his likeness to the portraits of Byron.
+
+Felicity at once said, as if in great anxiety--
+
+"You _mustn't_ call me a Marquise of the olden time! Will you?" She
+smiled at the composer as Roy Beaumont went upstairs, leaving Felicity
+to begin the evening by trying the room with De Valdez.
+
+Comparatively early, and quite suddenly, the rooms were crowded on the
+usual principle that no one will arrive till every one is there. They
+were filled with that inaudible yet loud chatter and the uncomfortable
+throng which is the one certain sign that a party is a success. The
+incorrect labelling of celebrities seemed to be an even more entrancing
+occupation than flirting to the strains of the Viennese Band. A young
+girl with red hair and eager eye-glasses, who had never in her life left
+Kensington, except to go to Earl's Court, entreated a dark animated
+young man who had just been introduced to her, but whose name she did
+not catch, to "sit down quietly and tell her all about everybody."
+
+He amiably complied.
+
+"That," he said, "that man with the white beard is Henry Arthur James.
+He writes all those books that no one can understand--and those clever
+plays, you know, that every one goes to see."
+
+"Does he really? Fancy! Can you point me out the man who wrote, 'Oh the
+Little Crimson Pansies' and 'The Garden of Alice'? I love his work. It's
+so weird. F. J. Rivers, you know."
+
+"My dear Miss Winter, what a dreadful thing! I'm afraid you'll be very
+disappointed. As a matter of fact, I am F. J. Rivers myself. Isn't it a
+pity? I'm so sorry. And I'm afraid I am not weird. Do forgive me. I'd be
+weird in a minute if I could. You know that, I'm sure. Don't you?"
+
+"Fancy! Just fancy!" She blushed crimson. "I was being so natural. I had
+no idea I was talking to a clever person."
+
+"No wonder!"
+
+"You see, I'm interested in things. I particularly love the intellectual
+atmosphere of this house, and I read all the serious magazines and
+things, the _Bookman_ and the _Saturday Review_ and the _Sketch_; and so
+on."
+
+"Should you say the atmosphere was really so intellectual here?" said
+Rivers a little doubtfully.
+
+The Viennese Band was playing _Caresses_ in its most Viennese way;
+people were gaily coming up from supper or coquettishly going down, or
+sitting in corners _a deux_, dreamily. The heavy scent of red rosebuds
+hung over all. So becoming was the background at this particular moment
+that nearly every woman looked fair and every man brave....
+
+"I'm afraid--I mean, I suppose--you take what they call an intelligent
+interest in the subjects of the day, Miss Winter?"
+
+"I should think so, indeed!" she answered.
+
+"Oh dear!" Rivers looked depressed as he tried to remember what he knew
+about Radium and Russia.
+
+"Somehow I don't feel frightened of _you_," she said. "Will you take me
+to have a cup of tea?"
+
+He escorted her downstairs, endeavouring to make up for any
+disappointment she might feel by pointing out with reckless lavishness
+Mr. Chamberlain, Beerbohm Tree, Arthur Balfour, Madame Melba, Filsen
+Young, George Alexander, and Winston Churchill, none of whom, by a
+curious coincidence, happened to be present.
+
+"Surely I may talk to you a moment," Woodville murmured to Sylvia.
+"Every one's happy eating, and you needn't bother. Just come out, one
+second--on the verandah through the little room. After all, I'm a friend
+of the family!"
+
+"Why, so you are!"
+
+She fluttered out with him through the French window of the little
+conversation room to a part of the garden that had been boarded and
+enclosed, forming with its striped awning and Japanese lanterns a kind
+of verandah. No one was in sight.
+
+"This is the first second to-night I haven't been utterly wretched,"
+said Woodville firmly.
+
+"Oh, Frank! How kind of you to talk like that!"
+
+"How beautiful of you to look like that!--And this is the sort of thing
+I have to stand--utterly ignored--I suppose you know I worship you? Do
+you really belong to me, Sylvia?"
+
+"Oh, Frank! Why, I _love_ you!"
+
+"Do you really?"
+
+"Of course. Look here, don't tell any one--not even yourself--but I'm
+wearing the little locket after all."
+
+The kiss was short but disturbing. As they came down to earth with a
+shock, they saw, looking at them steadily through the half-open window,
+Mr. Ridokanaki. He seemed interested.
+
+At a look from Sylvia Mr. Woodville faded away, feeling as if he were
+sneaking off. Sylvia went indoors.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Crofton," said the harsh yet sympathetic pleasant
+voice; "I have been seeking you since this half-hour.... I was coming to
+ask if I might have the great honour of taking you to supper. Of course,
+it is an immense privilege--far more than I might expect. Still, may I
+venture to hope?"
+
+"With pleasure," said Sylvia. She took his arm.
+
+"It is very kind of you, Miss Crofton. What a very interesting face that
+young man has!"
+
+"Which young man?" Sylvia asked innocently.
+
+"The young man who was in the garden. I am sure he is clever. Your
+father's--er--secretary, I think? _What_ did you say his name was,
+again?"
+
+"His name is Mr. Woodville. Yes, I think he is clever. Quite an old
+friend, you know," Sylvia added rather lamely.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One could see no difference in the Greek, since he talked on in his
+usual urbane way, and made no allusion of any sort the whole evening,
+either to the floral tribute he had sent, to his letter to Sir James, or
+to the little scene he had interrupted.
+
+In the supper-room all was gaiety and laughter.
+
+"How hollow all this sort of thing is, isn't it?" said De Valdez,
+presenting Felicity with a plover's egg, as he passed carrying a plate
+laden with them to some one else.
+
+"They do seem rather hungry, don't they? But why aren't you eating any
+supper, Mr. Wilton?"
+
+Having done her duty to all her old friends, Felicity was occupying
+herself very congenially by steadily bowling over a completely new young
+man. It was Bertie Wilton, whom Mrs. Ogilvie had brought on the grounds
+that he could have danced if it had been a dance, and that he was the
+son of Lady Nora Wilton. Felicity was very much pleased with his
+condition. It seemed most promising, considering she had known him about
+a quarter of an hour.
+
+"Supper! I should think two hot plates, one strawberry, and a sip of
+champagne more than enough for a person who is falling every moment more
+and more--Don't take that plover's egg, Lady Chetwode! It isn't fair!
+You have given me the sole right to provide for you this evening, and
+that man has no business to come interfering. Let him attend to his own
+affairs."
+
+"He only dropped one plover's egg on my plate, as an old friend--out of
+kindness! He meant no harm," pleaded Felicity.
+
+"Yes, that's all very well, but it was a liberty. It implies that I
+cannot provide you with all that you require. He must learn better." Mr.
+Wilton firmly removed the plover's egg and placed it on the next table,
+at which Rivers and the red-haired girl were still chattering volubly.
+Rivers immediately brought it back as lost property, courteously
+presenting it to Felicity on a silver salver.
+
+"This is becoming unbearable! I shall have to write to the _Times_."
+Wilton gave the egg to a waiter and a furious glance at Rivers, and then
+sat down again. He was remarkably good-looking with his sparkling blue
+eyes and mischievous expression, and Felicity glanced at him with
+approval. He would do very well--for the evening. He was quite worth
+powder--and shot. At least, he was, to her, a perfect stranger, and
+there was a great dearth of spring novelties at the party to-night.
+
+"I've been waiting for you for years," said Bertie Wilton in a soft,
+low, impressive voice.
+
+"Fancy! How patient of you!--How did you know it was me?"
+
+"Oh, instantaneous-sympathy, I suppose."
+
+"On your side, do you mean? I should call it telepathy, or
+perhaps--conceit."
+
+"Call it what you like. But how is it you're so wonderful? Tell me
+that."
+
+"I can't think," she said dreamily.
+
+"I'm certain I met you in a previous existence," continued the young
+man.
+
+"What a good memory you must have, Mr. Wilton! It's as much as I can do
+to remember the people I meet in _this_ existence. I believe I saw you
+in Mrs. Ogilvie's box at _Madame Butterfly_."
+
+"I know, I saw you from there. I was rooted to the spot--I believe
+that's the right expression, though it sounds rather agricultural--while
+at the same time you might have knocked me down with a feather! It's
+really true, you might. But I know you wouldn't have, you're far too
+good and kind."
+
+"I don't think I _had_ any feathers with me," said Felicity.
+
+Bertie went on. "But this life is so short.--Do you think it's worth
+it?--(Do have some mayonnaise.)--I mean the kind of thing one
+does--waiting, waiting--at last asking, for instance, to call on your
+day--only meeting in throngs--perhaps not getting a chance, for months,
+to tell----"
+
+"I suppose life _is_ rather long, isn't it?" Felicity said, as a
+concession.
+
+"Then I may come and see you the day after to-morrow?" he asked.
+
+"Not till the day after to-morrow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why wait
+so long?"
+
+"At what time?" he persisted, smiling.
+
+"You may call next Monday--at five. Not this week."
+
+"That's impossible. I can't. It's too dreadful. I can't wait till
+Monday, I can't.... Well, let me come on Tuesday, then?"
+
+"_I_ see. You're particularly engaged on Monday. After all, why trouble?
+There are so many people for you to call on!"
+
+"If I might call to-morrow, ONCE, I'll never be engaged again! I'll
+never call on any one else during the whole of my natural life."
+
+"All right," she said absently. "Call to-morrow, ONCE, as you say. Not
+that I ever heard of any one calling twice the same day, at least not
+the first day."
+
+"Oh, Lady Chetwode, how kind of you! Did you say five? Can't you make it
+half-past four?"
+
+"Very well."
+
+"Won't you make it three? I beg your pardon. I'll walk up and down in
+front of the house strewing flowers from three till half-past four and
+then come in, may I? And will there be crowds of people there?"
+
+"Well, you haven't given me much time," said Felicity. "I'll try to get
+up a party by to-morrow, if you wish it."
+
+"How can you be so unkind! Do you think me very pushing--and vulgar?"
+
+"Very. No, only vulgar."
+
+"At any rate, I'm sincere. It's like Tristan and Ysolde; at least, it's
+like Tristan. You can't look me straight in the eyes and tell me I'm not
+sincere!"
+
+Felicity looked; and was quite satisfied.... How hard it was that
+Chetwode was not there for her to tell him all about the conversation
+going home! This thought vexed her so much that she became absent and
+lost spirit to keep it up.
+
+Mr. Rivers had promised to send the red-haired girl, who had fallen
+hopelessly in love with him, his latest book. He had arranged to take
+her and her mother to a concert at the Queen's Hall the following Sunday
+afternoon.
+
+Roy Beaumont was the centre of a crowd of interested people, chiefly
+bearded men, who paid him sportive homage, and pretty women, as he
+illustrated, by means of a wineglass, two knives, and a saltspoon, his
+new invention for having one's boots fastened by electricity, which was
+to do for Marconigrams, expose radium as a foolish fraud, and consign
+clock-work to limbo. "You don't touch the buttons and the invention does
+the rest," he pointed out.
+
+Aunt William in her peach gown was taken down to supper by Jasmyn. He
+was a plump middle-aged young man, a very social person, and quite an
+arbiter on matters of fashion; known for his kindness and politeness to
+dear old ladies and shy young men. A romantic affection for a certain
+widow, whom his friends said he spoke of as "Agatha, Mrs. Wilkinson," to
+give the effect of a non-existent title, had prevented him, so far, from
+marrying. He was bland and plaintive, looked distinguished, supremely
+good-natured, and rather absurd.
+
+"It is too marvellous," said Aunt William, as she ate her _foie-gras_.
+"What a collection my dear brother-in-law has assembled to-night. Half
+the people here I have never heard of in the whole course of my life!"
+
+"And the other half," said Jasmyn, "you have perhaps heard of rather
+too often. No strawberries, Mrs. Crofton?"
+
+"No thank you. I don't care for fruit, except in its proper season. My
+dear husband always said strawberries were not eatable till the fourth
+of June."
+
+"Ah, how right he was!" said Jasmyn absently, eating a very large one.
+"I suppose he didn't care for _primeurs_. Personally, I admit that I am
+absolutely sick of asparagus by April, but I think it best to eat and
+drink as much as possible because I suffer so terribly from depression."
+
+"Depression! Yes, you would. Having everything on earth you want, and
+being thoroughly spoilt, like all men of the present day, you would
+naturally have low spirits."
+
+"Ah, I dare say you don't believe me. But I assure you, Mrs. Crofton,
+that under all my outward misery I generally have an aching heart....
+How lovely Lady Chetwode's looking!"
+
+"Lady Chetwode," said Aunt William loyally, "is a most brilliant woman.
+Her sister is a beautiful girl, and her brother Savile is doing well at
+Eton. His last report----"
+
+"Do you know, I'm terribly frightened of Savile," said Jasmyn. "He's
+such a man of the world that I feel positively crude beside him."
+
+Before the end of the evening, Ridokanaki took an opportunity to ask if
+Woodville would dine with him.
+
+"I want to have a little talk with you," he said. "I have an idea--it
+may be perfectly wrong--that what I have to say may interest you."
+
+Woodville accepted; surprised at his rival's cordiality.
+
+"At Willis's, then, at eight, Mr. Woodville?"
+
+"At eight. Thanks very much."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+FELICITY AND HER CLIENTS
+
+
+When Felicity woke up in her enormous, over-draped, over-decorated,
+gilded, carved, and curved bed she was immediately as wide awake as
+though she had been up several hours.
+
+There was no slow rousing to the realities of life, no sleepy yawning or
+languid return from a land of dreams. She dashed the hair out of her
+eyes, at once put on her glasses (for in private she was short-sighted),
+and began immediately and systematically to tell her fortune by cards.
+She did this regularly every morning. It was a preliminary to her day's
+campaign, when Everett came in with the tea and letters, drew aside the
+heavy blue curtains, embroidered all over with gold fleur-de-lys, and
+let in a ray of April sunshine. According to her usual practice,
+Felicity kept up a running commentary on her correspondence.
+
+"From darling Chetwode.--'My own beautiful little angel, It is
+quite'--what's this? hop-picking? no--'heart-breaking that I can't get
+back to you for another week. Tobacco Trust was beaten by a short head,
+as of course you know, but Onlooker is a dead certainty for to-morrow.
+Will wire result.
+
+"'I saw a most marvellous old cabinet in a cottage near here'--he
+_would_!--'an extraordinary bargain. It will just go in the corner
+of----'" She put the four closely written sheets down and opened some
+more envelopes.
+
+"'Lady Virginia Creeper at home. Five to seven.' Well, I can't help it.
+Let her stop at home. It's the best place for her.
+
+"'Dearest Lady Chetwode, you haven't forgotten, I am sure, that you
+promised to see me at three to-morrow. I come to you with my tears. You
+are the greatest adviser and consoler in all heart troubles. Of late I
+have been enamoured of sorrow. But for your wonderful "Bureau de
+Consultation Sentimentale," where should we poor sentimentalists be!
+Agatha has been simply brutal to me lately. I can find no other word. I
+look forward to pouring my grief into your shell-like ear. I will bring
+my new song, "Cruel as the Grave."' How cheering! Jasmyn Vere is
+perfectly absurd about Agatha. He's a bore, anyhow.
+
+"'Dear old girl; I'm coming to lunch to-day. Everything is rather
+rotten. I have news of HER. Your aff. brother Savile.'
+
+"'Darling Felicity, be a perfect angel and let my maid see your mauve
+tea-gown. I know you are so good-natured or I wouldn't dare to ask. I am
+very anxious about HIM. Oh, why are men always the same? I found out
+that the wretch instead of being ill, the other day, had taken that
+awful Lucy Winter to a picture-gallery. What a girl! All red hair and
+eye-glasses. Let me see you soon. Your devoted friend, Vera Ogilvie.' I
+am sure Vera needn't worry. Lucy Winter was evidently wild about F. J.
+Rivers last night. I must tell her. What stupid letters! Oh! here's a
+new handwriting.
+
+"'98 Half Moon Street, 2 o'clock a.m.--Dear Lady Chetwode, I should be
+counting the minutes till 4.30, but they pass too slowly to be counted.
+It's thirteen hours and a half, anyhow. I can't believe I shall really
+see you again. How eternal yesterday was! Why do the gods follow each
+feast day with a fast? By the way, I have a little Romney here so
+marvellously like you that you really ought to see it.'" Felicity
+smiled. "Steady! Rather a nice handwriting. 'Sincerely yours, Bertie
+Wilton.' Very promising. 'P.S. I have left a long space between the
+lines so that you should read between them.' Everett, I'll wear my
+tailor-made dress this morning and for lunch. The mauve tea-gown at
+four. I'm only going to the theatre to-night. Let me see, what is it?
+Oh! the St. James's. The white _crepe de chine_. Then, remind me to wire
+to the Creepers on the evening of their afternoon to say I have a chill.
+Have some gardenias and lilies for the drawing-room, and let me see
+them. There's the telephone! I suppose Chetwode has rung me up again."
+
+Then followed a one-sided conversation through the telephone, which was
+fixed by the side of the Louis Quinze bed.
+
+"Yes, darling.... Oh, all right.... Didn't he?... I say, you might come
+back soon.... I really shouldn't bother about that screen.... What?... I
+said screen, not scream.... We have heaps more than we want already....
+Oh! and ever so many people are coming this afternoon.... A perfectly
+new young man.... What?... Oh, not bad!... Safety in numbers?... Even if
+you take the numbers one at a time?... Good-bye."
+
+Savile at lunch was gloomy and taciturn. Absently he had partaken three
+times of a certain favourite dish, made of chestnuts and cream,
+repeatedly proffered, with _empressement_ and a sort of respectful
+sympathy, by Greenstock. Then he pushed his plate away, and said when
+they were alone--
+
+"Funny! I can't eat a thing! Sylvia says I live on nothing but oranges.
+Pretty rotten sign, eh? Here's what I've heard about HER."
+
+He took out of his purse a neatly-cut-out paragraph from _The Queen_. It
+stated that Madame Patti had been warmly greeted by all the village of
+Craig-y-nos, and was about to give an afternoon concert there for the
+benefit of the poor.
+
+"I shan't have another chance to see HER before I go back," said Savile,
+looking steadily at his sister.
+
+She followed his idea in a second. "All right! Poor boy! There's no
+great harm. Shall I give you the--change"--(to Savile, Felicity always
+spoke of money as change)--"to run up to Wales and hear her sing, and
+then come back the same evening? It doesn't really matter what time you
+arrive home, you see. You can stay with me. I'll tell papa you're going
+to a concert and I want you to stay with me."
+
+Savile was nearly purple with joy. "Would you really? What bricks girls
+can be!" He shook hands with her with intense self-restraint, and
+murmured, "I shan't forget this, old girl."
+
+Felicity completed the arrangements, and Savile left, a very happy boy.
+
+At three o'clock Felicity, in her wonderful orchid-mauve tea-gown, was
+conversing pathetically with Jasmyn Vere, one of the habitues of what
+her friends called her sentimental bureau.
+
+He was not one of her favourite clients. He was egotistical, and his
+mania for Agatha was becoming rather a bore. Agatha was a plain,
+muscular, middle-aged widow who drove him to distraction by her temper
+and her flirtations. Felicity only stood it at all because he sang and
+played beautifully, imitated popular actors in his lighter moments, and
+gave amusing dinners at restaurants.
+
+"What would you have done?" he said. "By mistake, Agatha posted this
+letter to me!"
+
+He took out of a pale grey morocco case a note with "Stanhope Gate" and
+a large "A" on it in scarlet and black.
+
+She read--
+
+     Dear Bob,
+
+     Excuse rush. All rubbish about Jasmin. He's a hopeless idiot, but a
+     good old sort. Mind you fetch me in time for Lingfield Races
+     to-morrow and put me on to a good thing.
+
+                                  Yours,
+
+                                      AGATHA.
+
+Felicity handed it back.
+
+"Just fancy, Lady Chetwode! I confronted her with this. She had put it
+in the wrong envelope and sent a note meant for me to Captain
+Henderson. She only roared with laughter. I broke it off finally and she
+said I should probably break it on again next day."
+
+"And did you?"
+
+"Nothing of the kind. I went away and wrote her a really beautiful
+letter. I said that I would wipe out the past and begin afresh if she
+promised never even to recognise Captain Henderson again in the
+street--or anywhere."
+
+"What did she say, Mr. Vere?"
+
+"Say! She wired 'Sorry imprac.' So it's all over. Now, what do you
+advise?"
+
+"If you would only leave her alone for about two minutes, she would come
+round all right; she is so used to you. Or, make her jealous."
+
+"Well, I hope you'll forgive me, but I did try that. In our last
+interview I said I was coming to see you, and that you were a really
+womanly woman."
+
+"Oh, thanks very much," said Felicity angrily. "What did she say to
+that?"
+
+"Laughed that awful laugh of hers, and said I need not worry, as you
+were very busy."
+
+"She was perfectly right, I am," said Felicity. "Have you left her alone
+since that?"
+
+"Practically. At least, I only sent her a little thing I thought she'd
+like."
+
+"A diamond horse-shoe--by any chance?"
+
+"Oh, just a trifle as a souvenir of our long friendship. Then I
+suggested we should have one final meeting--a _diner d'adieu_."
+
+"And she didn't send the trinket back, and she didn't refuse? Oh, you're
+all right!"
+
+"I am not all right, dear Lady Chetwode."
+
+"When are you going to see her again?"
+
+"I'm bound to say that I hope to see her next Saturday evening. But just
+think! She has actually spoken, written of me as a 'hopeless idiot'!"
+
+"Yes. I understood that."
+
+"Should a man forgive such a thing?"
+
+At this stage Felicity's eyes began straying to the clock. "Certainly,
+if it is true," she said absently.
+
+He left a copy of "Cruel as the Grave" when he went, with many
+expressions of gratitude, and Felicity said to herself: "What an
+extraordinary thing! What can he see in Agatha? What can Agatha see in
+Bob? And there is Vera Ogilvie--really pretty and charming--worrying
+herself about that dull Captain Henderson, who makes love to every woman
+he sees, and doesn't care two straws about her." At this point she took
+up a very handsome photograph of her husband, and looked at it until the
+tears came into her eyes. It was a charming portrait.
+
+When Bertie Wilton arrived, she brightened up a good deal. He looked
+better in the afternoon than in the evening, she thought. She liked his
+bright, intelligent face. And confidences about others do pall after a
+time. The reaction from Jasmyn made her perhaps more encouraging than
+she was aware of--she was so depressed about Chetwode's absence. After
+tea and preliminary platitudes, Mr. Wilton sat beside her on the sofa
+and took her hand.
+
+"What on earth do you mean by that?" she said, looking more annoyed than
+surprised.
+
+"You said yourself that life was so short the other night! I haven't the
+time--I tell you frankly--to be a tame cat and a hanger-on and one of
+your collection!"
+
+"Really! Sorry you're so busy. I looked upon you as one of the
+unemployed." She was amazed at his tactlessness.
+
+"You were mistaken. When a thing like this happens--a genuine
+_coup-de-foudre_--a man is only a fool who doesn't face it and admit it
+at once. I care for you really, though I haven't known you--very long.
+I'll cut it out of my life unless you give me ever such a distant hope
+that you will--like me--too."
+
+"Will you look at my husband's photograph, Mr. Wilton? He's really very
+handsome--and particularly amusing. We've been married just thirteen
+months."
+
+"An unlucky number! Yes, I know he's handsome--and, no doubt,
+delightful. But he isn't here."
+
+"What's that got to do with it?"
+
+"Everything. You know he might be here--with you, and he's not."
+
+"That's his business."
+
+"And mine!" audaciously answered the young man.
+
+"Will you please not take my hand, and recollect that I'm not a
+housemaid 'walking out' with her young man?"
+
+He did not obey her.
+
+"I should never have suspected you of such bank-holiday manners," she
+said, at once amused and angry.
+
+"You can call it bank-holiday or anything you like--and if you don't
+like it I'm sorry, but really you deserve it! You may drive people mad
+with your little ways, and they may stand it if they like. I can't."
+
+Evidently Mr. Wilton was losing his head. It was quite interesting.
+
+"I saw from the first that firmness is my only chance with you," he said
+half apologetically. He then made the terrible mistake of trying to kiss
+her. She slid away like an acrobat, pressed the electric bell, and sat
+down again with a heightened colour.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Wilton humbly. "I know it was very wrong. I
+couldn't help it. You needn't ring and turn me out of the house,--I'll
+go."
+
+"I wasn't going to."
+
+Greenstock appeared.
+
+"Please bring a glass of iced-water," said Felicity in clear crystal
+tones.
+
+"Oh, Lady Chetwode!"
+
+During the moment's somewhat awkward interval Felicity stroked up her
+hair and looked tenderly at Lord Chetwode's photograph.
+
+When the iced-water was brought in he drank it.
+
+She burst out laughing.
+
+"What a penance! Just after tea! Well, I'll forgive you this once only.
+I think it unspeakable. You're of course very young, so you shall have
+another chance. You never will be like that again, will you?"
+
+He stood up.
+
+"I never will. I'm very sorry. I quite understand. I can see you are
+accustomed to invertebrate admirers who spoil you. I made a mistake,
+because you see I don't happen to be one."
+
+"Chetwode isn't invertebrate!"
+
+Bertie bowed. "Ah, I dare say not. Of that I have no kind of doubt. But
+you see, he's not here. He's never here. Good-bye."
+
+He took his leave in a very final manner.
+
+Felicity thought over the question with interest. She was sure she would
+never see Wilton again. Why was Chetwode always away like this?
+Everybody noticed it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Felicity came back from the St. James's Theatre that night she
+thought that she was a little in love with Bertie Wilton. But she knew
+she wasn't.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A DINNER AT WILLIS'S
+
+
+"It seems to me," said Sylvia, "the most unnatural, _treacherous_ thing
+I ever heard of."
+
+She and Woodville were sitting in the library together after breakfast,
+and he had just told her of Ridokanaki's invitation.
+
+"Besides, I thought you hated him, Frank!"
+
+"If we only dined with people we like, we should practically starve in
+London."
+
+"But why dine with my enemies?"
+
+"He worships the ground you tread on."
+
+"Then it's all the worse! He wants to spoil our happiness for his own
+selfish purpose. You know that, and yet you go!"
+
+"Darling, beautiful angel, do let me use my own judgment! I want to hear
+what he has to say. Don't be angry, Sylvia. I couldn't very well refuse
+on the ground that he was in love with you, when we--you and I--are not
+officially--you see, dearest! Of course, it's better I should go."
+
+The door opened slowly and Sir James came in like a procession, and sat
+down slowly, in his stately, urbane manner.
+
+"Excuse me one moment, Sir James," murmured Woodville, and he collected
+some papers and vanished. Sylvia waited a few minutes and then rose.
+
+"Don't go, Sylvia," said her father mildly. She stopped. Sylvia was the
+only person with whom Sir James was never peremptory.
+
+"What has become," he said, a little nervously, though with his usual
+formality, "of that very sumptuous basket of flowers Mr. Ridokanaki was
+so kind as to send you?"
+
+"It's in the housekeeper's room, papa." Sylvia's voice to-day was very
+sweet and high; a sign to those who knew her of some perturbation or
+cussedness, as Savile used to say.
+
+"Hum! There must be several floral offerings there. To the best of my
+belief--correct me if I am mistaken--four arrived last week."
+
+"Oh yes, there are _heaps_, papa! It's a perfect garden of flowers."
+
+"So I suppose.... Will you have them brought up to the drawing-room at
+_once_!--or, when convenient, darling?"
+
+"No, papa. Several are rather faded."
+
+Sir James paused, then with an attempt at calm determination said, with
+finality--
+
+"If any more arrive, will you recollect, my dear, that I _wish_ them to
+be placed in the drawing-room?"
+
+"Oh, I don't like so many flowers in the drawing-room, papa. But, if you
+like, I might send them on to one of the hospitals. Perhaps the 'Home of
+Rest for Chows and Poodles' might----"
+
+"Ridiculous, child! They would not be appreciated there. What do our
+canine friends care for carnations?" He smiled with satisfaction at the
+phrase.
+
+In his mind he saw a neat letter to the papers--the sort of thing he
+dictated to Woodville, and never sent--about "Flowers and Our
+Four-footed Favourites," signed "Paterfamilias." He was proud of his
+well-turned phrases, but, though pompous, he was not persistent, and
+when his secretary had once heard these rigmaroles, and their author had
+seen them in type--I mean typewriting--Sir James felt for the moment
+satisfied, and said he had "done a good morning's work."
+
+"I won't have them sent to any hospital, Sylvia. I forbid it."
+
+"Very well, papa. But they're _mine_; surely I can do what I like with
+them?" she pouted.
+
+"Since they are, as you justly say, my dear, your own personal property,
+it seems to me only proper that you should write and acknowledge them,
+thanking the thoughtful sender in an appropriate note."
+
+"But, papa, the thoughtful sender is so _fearfully_ floral! I should
+have to spend nearly all my time writing appropriate notes."
+
+"I don't understand your tone, Sylvia. However, we may let that pass."
+He opened the newspaper with much rustling and crackling, and said, as
+if to end the discussion--
+
+"If you receive another basket, or other offering of the same
+description, from our good friend Ridokanaki, you will write and thank
+him, will you not?"
+
+"I will not," she answered amiably, as if assenting.
+
+"You _will not_?"
+
+He peered at the modern daughter from behind the _Times_, and recognised
+in her grey eyes (with as much gratification as such meetings usually
+afford us) a lifelong friend. It was his own hereditary obstinacy.
+
+Sylvia went to the door, then turned round and said a shade
+apologetically--
+
+"You see, darling, it seems such a wicked _waste_! Surely the money
+might be better spent! On--on the unemployed, or something. Why, the
+other day he sent a thing from Gerard's so enormous that it came quite
+alone in a van; and another came in a four-wheeler. And I wasn't rude,
+you know--I kept it."
+
+"I don't quite follow you, my dear. You kept what? The cab?"
+
+"No, the flowers. And I must say it is a pleasure to go and give one's
+orders now! The kitchen is like a fete at the Botanical Gardens."
+
+Sir James frowned absently, pretending to be suddenly absorbed in the
+paper until she had gone away, and shut the door. Then he put down the
+_Times_ carefully, and shook with laughter, comfortably to himself, as
+he only laughed when alone. His daughter's way of receiving homage was
+very much to his taste.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the door of the little restaurant in King Street, waiting for him,
+Woodville found Ridokanaki.
+
+Slight and thin as he was, with his weary, drooping grey moustache, he
+looked always rather unusual and distinguished. He had black, wrinkled,
+heavy-lidded eyes, in which Sylvia had discovered a remarkable
+resemblance to the eyes of a parrot, though the fire in them was very
+far from being extinguished. He wore a gay light red carnation, but the
+flowerless Woodville looked far more festive. Woodville's enjoyment of
+nearly all experiences which were not absolutely depressing was greater
+than ever since his life of self-repression. To dine alone with the
+great Ridokanaki on the brink of some kind of sentimental crisis was to
+him a kind of intellectual, almost a literary joy, one which Sylvia
+could never either share or understand.
+
+Ridokanaki received him with his most courteous manner. Ridokanaki, like
+most people, had two remarkably different manners. In society, he had a
+certain flowery formality, a conventional _empressement_, that, though
+far from being English, was absolutely different from the geniality of
+the German, from French tact and bonhomie, and from the Italian grace.
+It is a manner I have noticed chiefly in Scotchmen and in modern Greeks;
+its origin is, I fancy, a desire to please, of which the root is pride,
+not mere amiability or vanity, as in the Latin races. As unfortunately,
+in Ridokanaki's case, it entirely lacked charm, people simply found him
+tedious; especially women. On the other hand, in business or, indeed, in
+anything _really serious_, Ridokanaki was quite royally frank, and
+natural as a child; considering not at all the feelings of other people
+and consequently irritating them very little. He had a supreme contempt
+for petty diplomacy in such matters, regarding it as only worthy of a
+commercial traveller. His absolute reliability and brutal frankness had
+made him personally liked in the City, in spite of his phenomenal
+success--a success that had led to an importance not merely social, but
+political, and almost historical. Those who saw him in this blunt mood,
+found him, for the first time, amusing. All really frank people _are_
+amusing, and would remain so if they could remember that other people
+may sometimes want to be frank and amusing too.
+
+"There is a subtle difference," remarked Woodville, looking round,
+"between Willis's and other restaurants. At all others one feels the
+meal is a means to an end; somehow, here, it seems to be the end itself.
+Eating is treated as a sacred rite, and in the public preparations of
+sauces by a head waiter there is something of a religious sacrifice.
+Look at the waiters, like acolytes, standing round the maitre d'hotel,
+watching him."
+
+"That's quite true," said Ridokanaki. "You mean people don't dine here
+for amusement?"
+
+It was not until the coffee and cigar stage was reached that Ridokanaki
+suddenly said in his _earlier manner_, rather quickly and abruptly: "And
+why don't you do something better, Mr. Woodville?"
+
+"Could I be doing anything better?" said Woodville, laughing. "I
+certainly couldn't be dining better."
+
+His host blinked his eyes, waved his hand, and said quickly: "Any one
+could do what you do for Sir James. It's quite ridiculous, with your
+brains, that because your uncle didn't leave you a fortune, you should
+have this absurd career. It isn't a career."
+
+Woodville felt the delightful excitement beginning. To increase it, he
+reminded himself how Ridokanaki, by a stroke of the pen, could move the
+fate of nations, and then he turned cold at the thought that Ridokanaki
+was in love with Sylvia.
+
+"I know," he said, "that I am not doing any good, but I see no prospect
+of anything better."
+
+Ridokanaki frowned, staring at Woodville rather rudely, and then said:
+"Of course we're both thinking of the same thing. I mean the same lady."
+
+"Really, Mr. Ridokanaki, I have no idea what you are thinking about. But
+there is no lady who can possibly concern _our_ conversation."
+
+Ridokanaki looked at the clock. It immediately struck ten, tactfully, in
+a clear subdued tone.
+
+"But"--he spoke rather impatiently--"with all reverence and the most
+distant respect in the world, there's no reason why I shouldn't speak of
+the lady. I'm sorry, as you seem to dislike it, but I'm afraid I have no
+time for fencing now."
+
+Frank was silent.
+
+"Every day," said Ridokanaki in an undertone, "you see that beautiful
+girl. You live under the same roof. I see her only occasionally, but I
+understand your feelings." He laughed harshly. "I have the same--as you
+know."
+
+"Your sentiments, no doubt, do you the greatest possible honour, Mr.
+Ridokanaki. Mine are those of old friendship."
+
+"Indeed! Well! mine aren't! Can't you see I'm trying to play the game?"
+He spoke almost coarsely. Woodville liked him better. There was a pause.
+
+"Perhaps," continued the host, "you _think_ you only want her
+friendship, but I don't suppose _she_ thinks so. In reality, of course,
+you want her."
+
+"Really, Mr. Ridokanaki----!"
+
+"Listen, listen! You can't marry her in your present position. I could
+in mine, but she will never like me while you're there--possibly never.
+At my best I never had what the French call _le don de plaire aux
+dames_. Not that age matters, nor ugliness. I haven't the knack. I never
+had. I bore women. I always did. In that I've always failed, and know
+it. And it's the only thing I ever cared about. My failure is my
+tragedy." He smiled. "You have all the advantages on your side, Mr.
+Woodville. But you're both young, and for that very reason any fancy
+that may have sprung up _might_ be forgotten. With me----"
+
+Woodville looked at him. No, it was not possible to be jealous of his
+host. Whatever truth there was about his past failure, he could never
+fascinate Sylvia. She appreciated too fully the plastic side of life;
+she was a romanticist, and therefore she attached immense importance to
+the material. (Are not all romantic heroes and heroines beautiful to
+look at, and always either beautifully or picturesquely dressed?) Sylvia
+cared far more about her own admiration for a man than for his
+admiration for her. Homage, except from the _One_, was to her no
+pleasure, and fortunately she knew exactly what she wanted.
+Instinctively Woodville knew that she would always love him. Unless,
+indeed, he should change. But that was impossible. He felt it to be
+impossible.
+
+So, perhaps, after all, the reports about Ridokanaki's European
+"successes" were all nonsense. Yes, he had revealed his wound quite
+openly, and it was a bitter one. He had never been loved "for himself".
+Woodville pitied him.
+
+"What do you propose?" said Woodville, falling into the Greek's laconic
+tone.
+
+"Why should a man of your ability go twice a week in an omnibus to a
+shabby studio, in hopes of making a few pounds a year by copying?
+Because you're hard up. Why should you be so hard up? I met you once
+going there, and thought how hard it was. It is dreadful to be hard
+up.... This is what I propose. I can easily obtain for you a post in
+connection with my bank. The salary to begin with will be two thousand
+pounds a year. In Athens."
+
+"Athens!"
+
+"I propose that you try it for a year. During that year I will not see
+the lady. I will efface myself. If at the end of that time you both
+still feel the same I shall give up for ever my own wish. You can have a
+similar post then in London."
+
+"Mr. Ridokanaki, you are too kind. But why, _why_ should you?"
+
+"Because I hate to see you near her. If your attachment for each other
+is the real thing it will stand this separation. Then I shall sink my
+own feelings. Of course, you see I mean it."
+
+"Thank you," said Woodville, rather touched, and hesitating.
+
+"Please understand," continued Ridokanaki, "that I don't hope for one
+_moment_ there is in any case a chance for me. It's chiefly," he said
+markedly, "to spare me a year's torture. I can't stand your being in the
+same house with her. It kills me. I'll try, then, when you've given me
+this chance, to turn into a friend, a godfather!" He poured out some
+old brandy and drank it. Woodville changed colour. "They speak of me as
+a Don Juan, I believe, but I'm really much more of a Don Quixote. If you
+spare me this year I'll do anything to help you both."
+
+He tapped the liqueur-glass on the table nervously, and went on. "I have
+got this very badly. Very badly. Oh very."
+
+"_How_ can I accept from you----"
+
+"You gain nothing by refusing. The favour is to _me_--remember _that_.
+In a year you'll be in the position you are now, or worse--if you stay.
+If you go to Athens you will, of course, have a delightful time. You
+speak French; you will not have much to do. Only the sort of thing you
+can do easily and well. Don't you want to see different places,
+different things?... You are the man I have been looking for. There is
+some very interesting society in Athens. You would be adored there. But
+I know that's not what you care about."
+
+"No; I have not the 'true Hellenic spirit.' But I want to be
+independent. I am afraid I couldn't."
+
+"I shall keep this thing open for a month," said Ridokanaki. "Come and
+see me. All right.--Yes,--I must go.... You had rather write, not come
+and see me, eh?"
+
+"You see, I must consult----"
+
+"Of course, you want to consult some one. But, listen. _Don't_ go by
+women! That would be really a pity. They don't know what's good for
+them." He laughed a little vaguely.
+
+They both stood up.
+
+"Mr. Ridokanaki, you have been more than kind. It is difficult----"
+
+"Well, you'll think it over. Good-bye, Woodville."
+
+Woodville walked away from the restaurant feeling wildly excited. Mr.
+Ridokanaki made hideous faces in the mirror in his carriage as he drove
+away and said to himself--
+
+"He thinks I'm the Frog Prince, and he's Prince Charming. Useless! Waste
+of time! What a fool I am! An evening thrown away! She'll never let him
+go. He's too good-looking."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I have not given Mr. Ridokanaki's exact words in his soliloquy. This
+book is intended for general reading.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE
+
+
+Felicity was dressing to meet her husband at the station. She tried on
+three new hats, and finally went back to one that Lord Chetwode had seen
+before.
+
+"It's too absurd," she said to herself as she drove off. "The
+extraordinary long time he has been away! Of course I know that nothing
+but racing or furniture takes him from me. What long letters he
+writes--he can't be forgetting me! When I see him I never like him to
+think that I mind. I think a husband ought to have perfect freedom; it's
+the only way to keep him. It seems to keep him away! Very odd!"
+
+Felicity arrived before the train was due. When it came in and no
+Chetwode appeared, she blamed the porter and the guard, and asked to see
+the station-master. He was very charmed with her, but could only
+patiently repeat that there was not another train that day from the
+remote little village where Chetwode had gone from Newmarket to pick up
+an old piece of furniture.
+
+"Really this is too much," said Felicity as she got into the carriage,
+and with difficulty prevented herself from bursting into tears. "What
+shall I do? How utterly sickening!" When she got home she found a
+telegram from Chetwode putting off his return for a day or two, as there
+was an old dresser in the kitchen of a farmhouse which the owner
+wouldn't part with, and that he (Chetwode) was not going to lose. It
+would be a crime to miss it. His telegram (they were always nearly as
+long as his letters) concluded by saying that, given the information
+straight from the stables, Peter Pan had a good chance at Sandown.
+
+"Oh!" she said again to herself. "Why, good gracious, I'm miserable!
+I've put off everything to-day. The worst of it is I can't do anything
+Chetwode wouldn't like, because he likes everything I do."
+
+She got back into the carriage, and told the coachman to drive to Mrs.
+Ogilvie's. Poor Vera! She was unhappy too. On her way she met F. J.
+Rivers walking with the red-haired girl, so she felt sure that Lucy
+Winter was no longer a thorn in the flesh to Vera. And possibly Vera was
+very happy to-day! So Felicity wasn't in the mood for her.
+
+She drove to the Park instead (she had put aside all engagements because
+Chetwode was coming home), and was thoughtful. Suddenly she caught sight
+of Bertie Wilton chattering to another boy by the railings. He bowed
+very formally. She stopped the carriage and beckoned to him.
+
+"Would you like to come for a drive?" she said in her sweetest, lowest
+tone.
+
+"I should like to immensely, as you know only too well, Lady Chetwode,
+but perhaps I'd better not. My bank-holiday manners might bore you."
+
+"How fickle you are. Come along," she commanded.
+
+He had just been on his way, he said, to an Exhibition of Old Masters to
+see if there was anything there like the little Romney he had at Half
+Moon Street that was so like her. So they drove to the New Gallery
+together.
+
+"I was in the depths of despair when I met you. So much so that I was
+trying to drown my sorrows in gossip," said Mr. Wilton.
+
+"And I am feeling rather sad," said Felicity; "if we are both horribly
+depressed perhaps we shall cheer each other up."
+
+"Ah, but I was depressed about you, and you were depressed about some
+one else. I wonder who it is."
+
+"Guess," she said.
+
+"About some one who isn't here? How extraordinary of him not to be here!
+Perhaps that's why you like him so much. Perhaps it's very clever--with
+a person like you--to be never there! Perhaps it's the only way to make
+you think about him!"
+
+"What do you mean by a person like me?"
+
+"You are right. There is no one like you. Anyhow, it's a cleverness I
+could never pretend to. I know I should be always there, or thereabouts.
+At all risks! Yes, all! I always say so."
+
+The New Gallery certainly did seem to raise their spirits. They sat
+there for a long time exchanging ideas and avoiding the pictures in a
+marked manner. Felicity had nothing whatever to do that evening, which
+she had intended to spend with her husband. Savile, who was staying with
+her, wouldn't be back from Craig-y-nos till heaven knew when. Oddly
+enough, Mr. Wilton also had no engagement that evening. "So much so," he
+said, that he had taken a large box at the Gaiety all by himself, to go
+and see that new thing. Felicity, oddly enough--it was the first
+night--had not seen the piece. He advised that she should. Then she
+would have to dine all alone at home while poor Mr. Wilton was going to
+dine in lonely solemnity at the Carlton. Matters were adjusted so far
+that she agreed to meet him at the restaurant on condition he made up a
+party.
+
+"Ask Vera Ogilvie and Captain Henderson. Perhaps the horrid noise and
+vulgarity, and your society, may brighten me up," she said consolingly,
+"or at least divert my thoughts."
+
+He sincerely hoped so. Much telephoning at the Club resulted in a
+promise from Bob and Mrs. Ogilvie to come too, so all was well.
+
+But Felicity dressed for dinner in quite an irritable frame of mind, and
+nearly cried because she accidentally broke a fan Chetwode had given
+her.
+
+Mr. Wilton could not have been quite so depressed, really, for after
+flying off in the adored motor to the Gaiety and the Carlton on urgent
+matters of business, he went home and looked a very long time at the
+little Romney quite cheerfully. He found himself beaming so markedly in
+the mirror over his button-hole and white waistcoat when dressing, that
+it suddenly struck him both the smile and the button-hole were overdone.
+They were triumphant, and triumph was vulgar (and premature). He removed
+them both, and went out with a suitable tinge of gentle restrained
+melancholy, at once very becoming, respectful, and, he trusted,
+interesting. He knew he had not lost much ground by his boldness at his
+first visit. A woman can pardon a moment of audacity more easily than a
+moment of misplaced respectful coldness. The one may be an attack on her
+dignity, but the other is a slight to her charm. And Felicity had such
+pretty manners; there was a touch of formality always with all her
+gaiety that left a dashing young man in doubt. It was certainly an
+interesting doubt.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I never met any one quite so definite in my life as that young man,"
+said Felicity as she ate her toast, holding the _Daily Mail_ upside
+down. She and Savile were sitting rather late over a somewhat silent
+breakfast. He appeared rather absent-minded and replied to her remark.
+
+"Yes, she was perfectly gorgeous, she looked magnificent. (Pass me the
+toast, old girl. Thanks.) I say, she looked at me!"
+
+"He said such peculiar things. He's different from other people,
+certainly," said Felicity argumentatively. "A really brilliant talker.
+It's so rare."
+
+"No wonder she was called the Nightingale! Thanks very much. Don't talk
+to me about Jenny Lind."
+
+"I wasn't. You see he's rather lonely and unhappy, after all, you know,
+under all that cynicism and rattling. Every one has two sides to their
+character (I believe in Browning up to a certain point)--one to face the
+world with, and the other to show."
+
+"As to Clara Butt, or any of these newfangled people, that's all rot! I
+tell you straight, I don't believe it," said Savile.
+
+"You're quite right, dear. One can't deny that he's amusing. There's
+something so ready about him, and he's so kind and good-hearted as well
+as clever. He has personality. That's the word."
+
+"Yes, she's a ripping, glorious creature! Oh, it is a pity she married
+again before I knew her! And a Swede too! But still, that's her
+business...."
+
+"Of course I told him not to call again until I wrote. There's a good
+deal in him--when you know him better, you know."
+
+Suddenly Savile looked up and said--
+
+"I say, Felicity, what are you doing to-night?"
+
+"I don't know, I haven't thought of it."
+
+"Chetwode not turning up yesterday you were disappointed."
+
+"I know I was. And, yet--look at this letter!" she showed him another of
+her husband's long elaborate love-letters.
+
+"Letters are all right, and of course no man, especially your husband,
+would write all that stuff--I beg your pardon--unless everything was all
+right. But Chetwode's eccentric."
+
+"I suppose he is. I think I shall dine out to-night, Savile, after all."
+
+"After all what?" asked Savile.
+
+"I'm engaged to-night, dear."
+
+"You're surely not going to dine with Mrs. Ogilvie and her pals--and
+Wilton, at the Carlton again?"
+
+"How right you are! Clever boy! I'm not, we're going to the Savoy."
+
+"Same idea. Look here, Felicity, you're a bit off colour. It's about
+Chetwode. He doesn't know it. He ought to."
+
+"Somehow I can't tell him I hate his being away. When he's here there's
+no need. Besides it's pride, or the family obstinacy."
+
+"Look here, if I could go to Wales for myself, I can go to--what's the
+name of the place--for you. I'll go off this morning, and pretend I've
+come to help Chetwode to dig up old cabinets and things. I'll bring him
+back, give him a hint that people talk. Oh, I know how to do it--and
+there you are."
+
+"My dear boy, how sweet of you! But it must come from yourself, mind.
+Perhaps you'd better not. Then I shall see him to-night? You'll bring
+him."
+
+"I'll undertake to--if you'll give up your Savoy."
+
+Felicity hesitated. "I'll ask them to dine here. I should be too
+nervous alone. Then you will just come in with Chetwode as early as you
+can this evening!" (She clapped her hands.) "This evening, won't you?
+He'll be at the village this afternoon, you know. He says he'll return
+to-morrow."
+
+"And to-morrow he'll go straight on to York for the races. He only puts
+it off because he doesn't know you want him. My dear old girl, this has
+got to be put straight. Now, then, shut up, Felicity!"
+
+"But, Savile, darling--pet! Suppose----"
+
+"Pass me the Bradshaw!"
+
+Felicity made no objection. He again started off for a long and tedious
+journey. He was supported by the feeling he was doing the right thing,
+and by re-reading the programme of the Craig-y-nos concert and
+remembering the look he firmly believed SHE had given him.
+
+Felicity, after telegraphing to Bertie Wilton--"Come to dine here
+to-night. Can't go out. Felicity Chetwode"--then went to Onslow Square,
+where she found Sylvia in the garden. Sylvia was not reading a book, and
+seemed very busy smiling--smiling to herself in a dream of some
+rose-coloured happiness.
+
+They interchanged ideas without words for a time. Then Sylvia said, "I
+do hope, Felicity, that Chetwode----"
+
+"He's coming back to-night," she answered decidedly; then said rather
+abruptly--
+
+"How's Mr. Woodville?"
+
+For the first time Sylvia blushed at his name, as she bent down to pick
+up the book she had dropped.
+
+"Oh, all right, I suppose. Won't it be nice when we go on the river?
+We're going quite early--in July."
+
+"Is papa going to have the same house he had last year?"
+
+"Oh, yes; but he's having it all differently furnished. He means to buy
+it, I think. And I'm to have a music-room opening out of my bedroom, in
+pale green! Won't it be lovely?"
+
+"Yes," said Felicity, "lovely. And ... what did you say you thought of
+Bertie Wilton? There's something I rather like about his face."
+
+"Yes, I know what it is--he's very good-looking. Not only that, he might
+be--well, rather too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean. I
+wouldn't flirt with him, Felicity."
+
+"I know you wouldn't, darling." Felicity smiled.
+
+"You don't really, I know! It's only fun. Besides, people only love
+once. You would never care for any one but Chetwode."
+
+"Care! I should think not. But Bertie Wilton's amusing. And he knows
+simply everything. He's a perfectly brilliant gossip. What do you think
+is the latest thing about the Valettas and Guy Scott?"
+
+Mrs. Ogilvie and Bob preferred the restaurant; Wilton accepted by
+telephone, telegraphing afterwards to know if it was all right. A
+_tete-a-tete_ dinner on so short an acquaintance with the most
+fascinating of hostesses seemed to him almost too great a privilege to
+be real. Afterwards she told his fortune by cards and he told hers by
+palmistry.
+
+"You don't tell me all," she said.
+
+"If I told you all--all you are to me--I suppose you would ring for a
+glass of iced-water again?" said he.
+
+"Oh, no, I shouldn't. I am in a very good temper to-night," said
+Felicity, laughing.
+
+She had a telegram announcing Chetwode's arrival by the 9.15. She had
+not mentioned it.
+
+Bertie Wilton looked at her. She seemed rather nervous. He persuaded
+himself not to go too far again, but it was really rather wonderful that
+she had, after the iced-water incident, asked him to spend the evening
+with her.
+
+They had music. He had a voice, a way of singing, and a choice of songs
+that had often been most useful to him in the beginning of his social
+and sentimental career. But he was surprised to see that while he was
+singing something about "my dream, my desire, my despair" she was
+standing in front of the looking-glass making play with a powder-puff as
+if he wasn't present, and then appeared to be listening at the door.
+
+He came from the piano and she thanked him with an absent-minded warmth.
+
+Incautiously he said, "It's just what you are, 'My dream.' Will you tell
+me something? But I shall be in disgrace if I ask."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Will you always be my despair?"
+
+"Oh no; oh yes--I mean." Then she said, "There he is!"
+
+There was a sound of cabs outside. Then the door opened and Savile came
+in, while a voice outside with a slight drawl said, "Where are you,
+Felicity?"
+
+Felicity ran out of the room and shut the door.
+
+"Extraordinary weather for the time of year," remarked Savile, with a
+condescending air of putting Wilton at his ease. The young man was
+smiling, rather uncomfortably for him.
+
+"Very," he answered. "No, thanks," to Savile's hospitable offer of a
+cigarette. "You've been travelling. How delightful."
+
+"I've just come back with Chetwode from Yorkshire. By the way, you'll
+excuse my sister for a few minutes. You know what these newly married
+couples are!"
+
+Bertie Wilton rose.
+
+"Do I not? I should be more than grieved to intrude on anything so
+sacred as a--shall I say--a home chat? Thanks very much. No, I won't
+stay now. Ask Lady Chetwode to excuse me. I shall hope to have the
+pleasure of meeting your brother-in-law here some time quite soon."
+
+He took his leave very cordially, with his usual smiling courtesy,
+Savile making no effort to detain him, and chuckling a little to himself
+as he tried to fancy the language Wilton would probably use in the cab
+on his way home. Then the boy, saying "Well, I've made that all right!"
+went back to Onslow square.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+SAVILE AND SYLVIA
+
+
+One gay irresponsible April afternoon Sir James and Woodville had gone
+to the House, and Savile, thinking he might be useful as an escort,
+strolled into Sylvia's boudoir. It was her favourite room, where she
+received her intimate friends, played and sang, wrote letters, read
+novels and poetry, and thought about Woodville. The scent from the lilac
+in the vases seemed to harmonise with the chintz furniture, covered with
+a design of large pink rosebuds and vivid green trellis-work; there was
+a mandoline on the lacquered piano and old coloured prints on the walls;
+books and music were scattered about in dainty disorder. Sylvia was
+sitting on the sofa with her pretty fair head bent down and turned away.
+She did not move when Savile came in, and he was shocked to see she was
+crying.
+
+Savile turned quite pale with horror. Young as he was, nature and
+training had made all outward manifestations of emotion so contrary to
+his traditions and mode of life, and it seemed so unlike Sylvia, that he
+felt a kind of shame even more strongly than sympathy. He shut the door
+quietly, whistled to show he was there, and walked slowly up and down
+the room. Then he stood by the latticed window, looking out, and tried
+to think of something to say. What comforted girls when they cried? The
+inspiration "Tea" suggested itself, but that would mean the entrance of
+outsiders. Presently he said shyly and sympathetically, "Shall I smoke,
+Sylvia?"
+
+She made a gesture signifying that nothing mattered now, and went on
+crying.
+
+"I say," said Savile, striking a match, "it can't be as bad as all
+that."
+
+He went up to the sofa and she held out her hand. Demonstrations of
+sentiment made him acutely uncomfortable. He put the pretty hand back
+carefully, and said in a level tone, "I tell you what I should do if I
+were you. I should tell some one about it--Me, for instance. I've been
+through a lot--more than any one knows." (Here he gave what he believed
+to be a bitter smile.) "I might be some use; I'd do my best, anyway."
+
+"Darling boy!"
+
+"Oh, buck up, Sylvia! You're going to tell me every word about it, and
+more, once you start! I'll help you to start." He waited a moment and
+then said rather loudly and sternly, "What's wrong between you and
+Woodville?"
+
+Sylvia sat up, took her handkerchief from her eyes, and stared at him.
+
+"What? Have you guessed?"
+
+"Have I guessed! If I'm always as sharp as this I shall cut myself some
+day," said the schoolboy ironically. "Why, what do you take me for? Do I
+live here? Do I come down to breakfast? Aren't I and Woodville great
+friends? Have I guessed?" He sighed in despair at her denseness.
+
+"Dear boy, I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You're so wonderful and so
+clever, but how could I know you'd be so sweet about it? Why papa said
+even you wanted me to marry Mr. Ridokanaki. He quoted you."
+
+"Well, why shouldn't he? I do wish it."
+
+Sylvia's eyes blazed, and she tapped her foot on the carpet.
+
+"Oh, do you? Very well, I'm sure I don't mind! You see it doesn't matter
+in the very least what you think. After all you're only a little boy."
+
+Savile smiled with genuine amusement, patted her golden hair paternally,
+and said "Of course. But if I'd happened to suggest your going to the
+registry office with Woodville this afternoon (I believe there's one
+somewhere in Kensington, near the work-house), I suppose I'd have been
+what you call a _dear_ little boy, and you'd have let me have some jam
+for tea.... Poor girl! You must be bad." He laughed, and then said
+quietly, "Now, then, go ahead."
+
+"Well, Savile, it's too dreadful, and I _will_ confide in you. Last
+night"--Sylvia began talking very volubly--"that horrid old brute--you
+know, the Greek--asked Frank, Mr. Woodville, to dinner, and actually had
+the impertinence to offer him a sort of post in a bank, starting at
+L2000 a year, at Athens. ATHENS! Do you hear? It's in Greece."
+
+"Don't rub it in. This is no time for geography. What else?"
+
+"Well, it was on these conditions. Frank was to go for a year, and all
+that time the _fiend_ has given word of honour never to come and see me,
+or anything, and if at the end of the year Frank and I are still both
+the same, _he_ will give it up--about me, I mean--and get Frank the same
+sort of berth in London. And if we're not--just fancy making such a
+horrible proposition! At Willis's, too!"
+
+"Well, what's the matter with Willis's? Would it have been all right at
+the 'Cheshire Cheese'?"
+
+"What's the 'Cheshire Cheese'?"
+
+"Never mind," said Savile mysteriously. (He didn't know.) "And if you're
+_not_ still the same?"
+
+"Oh, _then_"--she began to cry again--"of course the wretch thinks there
+might be a chance for him. He _must_ be mad, mustn't he? But the
+horrible part is that Frank actually thinks of _going_! Fancy! How
+_degrading_! To accept a favour from my enemy! Isn't Ridokanaki exactly
+like Machiavelli?"
+
+"Mac who? I see nothing Scotch in the offer. But if he were the living
+image of Robert Bruce or Robinson Crusoe, that's not the point. Now
+let's have it straight. Would you marry him in any case?"
+
+"Absolutely never," flashed Sylvia, showing all the celebrated family
+obstinacy by her beautiful set mouth, "I'd rather----"
+
+"Never mind what you'd rather. _I know_ what you'd rather, thanks very
+much. All right, you mean it. Cross him out. And now we know where we
+are."
+
+"But still I'm afraid ... you don't seem to think I ought to marry Mr.
+Woodville, do you?"
+
+"Not that exactly," said Savile. "But I think the man who's been making
+love to my sister ought to marry _her_. What's more, he's got to."
+
+"Oh, Savile, how can you! Don't you think he cares for me?"
+
+"Off the rails as usual! Yes, I do think so, but it doesn't matter a
+straw what my thoughts are. It matters what's going to be done."
+
+"But what can be done? Unless he goes away to Athens, I mean."
+
+"Great Scott!" exclaimed Savile, starting up. "What's the use of all his
+friends--Chetwode, and Mervyn, and Wilton, Vere and Broughton, and heaps
+more--if they can't get him something? A splendid chap like old
+Woodville! He was looked upon as a brilliant man at Balliol. I happen to
+know that--never mind how."
+
+She kissed him. "Do you think, then, that Arthur Mervyn would help him?
+I mean, do you think that Frank might go on the stage?"
+
+He looked at her quite anxiously, as though he thought her troubles had
+turned her brain.
+
+"Go on the _stage_! Go on _what_ stage? Oh, you'd like to see your
+husband prancing about like a painted mountebank with a chorus of
+leading ladies, would you?"
+
+"Oh no, indeed I shouldn't! But are leading ladies all dreadful? And I
+thought you were in love with a singer yourself," said Sylvia.
+
+Savile threw away his cigarette, with what he hoped was a hollow laugh.
+
+"My dear child, what I choose to do and what I allow my sister to do are
+two very different things."
+
+"I dare say they are, darling," said Sylvia mildly. "And, _please_ don't
+imagine for one moment that I suppose you ever do anything at all--I
+mean, that you oughtn't."
+
+"No, I shouldn't worry about _me_," said Savile. "We're talking about
+_your_ troubles.... As if Woodville were such an ass! Catch him going in
+for such rot!" He laughed. "Sylvia, do you suppose that he's stayed here
+in this hole," said Savile in a muffled undertone, looking round the
+exquisite room, and then repeating loudly and defiantly, "I say, in this
+_Hole_, except for you? Do you think he can't do anything better? Mind
+you, the Governor's fond of Woodville, it's only the cash and all that.
+If that idiot of an uncle of his hadn't married his housekeeper, it
+would have been all right."
+
+"Oh, Savile, fancy, I saw her once! She wore----"
+
+"Describe her dress some other day, dear, for Heaven's sake. What I say
+is that Woodville is the sort of man who could make his mark."
+
+"Do you think he could make a name by painting?" she asked eagerly.
+
+Savile looked rather sick, and said with patient resignation, "By
+painting what? The front of the house? Look here, _some one's_ got to
+talk sense. Leave this to me." He then waited a minute, and said,
+"_I'll_ get him something to do!"
+
+"Oh, Savile!--Angel!--Genius! How?"
+
+"Would you mind, very kindly, telling me what Chetwode's our
+brother-in-law for?" said Savile. "What use is he? When's he ever seen
+with Felicity? He can't live at curiosity shops and race-meetings. He
+can't expect to. Why (keep this to yourself) I brought him back last
+night from Yorkshire! Just in time, don't you know. Felicity was as
+pleased as Punch."
+
+"My darling boy, I _know_ you're sweet and clever, but you talk as if
+you had any amount of power and influence, and all that!"
+
+"Well, I got Bertie Wilton a decoration!" He laughed. "The Order of the
+Boot! Now, Sylvia, pull yourself together and I'll see it through. Don't
+say a word to Woodville, mind that!"
+
+"I adore you for this, Savile." During the interview the girl of twenty
+seemed to have grown much younger and more inexperienced, and the boy
+four years her junior, to have become a man.
+
+"Tell me," she asked anxiously, "then am I to pretend to consent to his
+going to Athens? Why, if he did _go_, well, it would kill me--to begin
+with!"
+
+"And what to go on with? Rot! It wouldn't kill you. It might spoil your
+looks, or give you a different sort of looks, that mightn't suit you so
+well. Awfully jolly it would be, too, having an anxious sister looking
+out for the post. Thanks! What a life for me! How soon has he to give an
+answer?"
+
+"Oh, in a month," she answered.
+
+"Well, let things slide; let them remain in ... what's that word?"
+
+"I don't know. In doubt? In ... Chancery?"
+
+"Chancery! Really, Sylvia! I know! In abeyance, that's the word," said
+Savile. He seemed to take special pleasure in it. "Yes, _abeyance_," he
+repeated, with a smile. "Well, good-bye! I'm going out." He looked to
+see that his trousers were turned up and the last button of his
+waistcoat left unfastened in the correct Eton fashion, and said, "Do
+look all right in our box to-night, Sylvia. You can if you like, you
+know."
+
+"I _promise_, Savile! I'd do _anything_ for you! I shall never forget."
+
+"You know, looking decent can't do any harm anyway anyhow, to anybody.
+Never be seen out of uniform." He stopped at the door to say very
+kindly, "Buck up, dear, and don't go confiding in people--I know what
+girls are. I suppose now," remarked Savile sarcastically, "that you want
+a powder-puff, and a cup of tea. I'll tell Price--about the tea, I
+mean."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+AT THE STUDIO
+
+
+Woodville let himself in with the key, and sat down, in deep
+despondency, in front of his easel. On it was a second copy of a copy
+that some one had found him doing at the National Gallery of the great
+Leonardo. It was not good, and it made him sick to look at it. The
+studio was a battered little barn in the depths of Chelsea, with the
+usual dull scent of stale paint and staler tobacco, and very little
+else; it was quite devoid of the ordinary artistic trappings. From the
+window shrill cries were heard from the ragged children, who fought and
+played in the gutter of a sordid street. Woodville had come here to
+think.
+
+He knew how shocked and distressed Sylvia had been when he had ventured
+to say that he thought he saw something in the Athenian scheme. He
+smiled with a slight reaction of gaiety at his surroundings, and
+wondered, for the hundredth time, why that extraordinary old American
+lady at the National Gallery had actually ordered from him the second
+copy of his picture. How marvellously bad it was!
+
+An unusual noise in the street--that of a hansom cab rattling up to the
+door--startled him. He went to the window, with a strange feeling at his
+heart. It was impossible that it could be Sylvia; she did not even know
+the address. It was Sylvia, in pale grey, gracefully paying the cabman
+while dirty children collected round her feet. He saw through the window
+that she smiled at them, and gave them a bunch of violets and some
+money, for which they fought. Horrified, he almost fell down the stairs
+and opened the door. There was no one else in the house.
+
+She followed him up to the studio, looking pale, but smiling bravely. He
+closed the door and leant against it. He was panting.
+
+"_What--on--earth_," he said, "do you mean by this madness?"
+
+Sylvia, seeing he was angry, took the hatpin out of her hat, and looked
+round for a place to sit down and quarrel comfortably.
+
+There was no seat, except a thing that had once been red and once a
+sofa, but was now a skeleton, and looked so cold and bare that she
+instinctively took off her chinchilla fur cloak and covered it up. Then
+she said--
+
+"_Because--I--chose!_ I never can get a word with you at home, and I
+have a perfect right to come and talk to my future husband on a subject
+that concerns my whole happiness."
+
+She had invented this speech coming along, being prepared for his anger.
+
+"But what would people----"
+
+"People! People! You live for people! Everything matters except me!"
+
+He resolved on calmness.
+
+"Sylvia, dear, since you _are_ here," he said quietly, "let us talk
+reasonably."
+
+He tried to sit next to her, but the sofa gave way, and he found himself
+kneeling by her side.
+
+They both laughed angrily. He got up and stood by the mantelpiece.
+
+"So you think it is _decent_ to accept money to leave the country to
+please my enemy?" said Sylvia.
+
+"Will you tell me a really better plan by which we can marry in a year
+on an assured income?" he asked patiently.
+
+"Income! Haven't I when I marry----" But he looked too angry. She
+changed the sentence and became imploring.
+
+"Frank! If you love me _really_, you can't leave me. Think, every day,
+every hour without you!"
+
+"Very well! We'll tell your father to-night, and chance it. I won't
+stand these subterfuges any more. After all, we have the right to do as
+we like."
+
+"No, Frank, you will _not_ tell him till I'm twenty-one. I haven't a
+right before. You would only be called horrid things--have to go,
+and--think how mean it is to poor Ridokanaki! Taking his kindness, only
+to round on him next year! Have you no pride, Frank?"
+
+"Sylvia, that's all very well. But he knows all that. It's his idea."
+
+"Yes, it _would_ be! As if I didn't see through his mean, sly scheme.
+Why, it's not kindness at all!" she exclaimed.
+
+"Good God! Well, what is it? Does he think you'll forget me, do you
+mean?" said Woodville.
+
+"No, he doesn't. He _knows you'll_ forget _me_--in Athens. Oh, Frank,"
+and she suddenly burst out crying, "there'll be Greeks there!"
+
+At the sight of her tears Frank was deeply touched; but he smiled,
+feeling more in the real world again--the world he knew.
+
+"My dear girl, I don't pretend for one moment to deny that there will be
+Greeks there. One can't expect the whole country to be expatriated
+because I go to Athens to work in a bank. What do you want there?
+Spaniards?"
+
+"Oh! Vulgar taunts and jokes!" She dried her eyes proudly, and then
+said--
+
+"_Are you sure you'll be true to me?_"
+
+Woodville met unflinchingly that terrible gaze of the inquisitional
+innocent woman, before which men, guilty or guiltless equally, assume
+the same self-conscious air of shame. His eyes fell. He had no idea why
+he felt guilty. Certainly there had never been in his life anything to
+which Sylvia need have taken exception. Then his spirit asserted itself
+again.
+
+"Oh, hang it all! I really can't stand this! All right, I won't go. Have
+it your own way. Distrust me! I dare say you think I deserve it. Is it a
+pleasure to leave you like this, surrounded by a lot of----Did any one
+look at you as you came along in the cab?"
+
+"_I_ don't know," she said.
+
+He spoke tenderly, passionately now.
+
+"I worship you, Sylvia. You've got that? You take it in?"
+
+"Yes, dearest."
+
+"Well, I'm yours. You can do what you like. I give in. I dare say your
+woman's instinct is right. And, besides, I can't leave you. And now, my
+darling, lovely, exquisite angel you will go--AT ONCE!"
+
+"Oh, Frank, forgive me."
+
+A violently loud knock startled them from each other's arms. There was
+another cab at the door.
+
+"Keep still. Keep over here, Sylvia," commanded Woodville.
+
+From the window he saw, standing on the steps, Savile, in his Eton suit.
+He smiled and waved his hand to the boy.
+
+"It's Savile. I'll open the door. It'll be all right. I expect he
+followed you."
+
+In two seconds Sylvia was composed and calm, looking round at the
+pictures in her chinchilla cloak.
+
+Savile followed his host up, laughing vaguely, and said when he saw
+Sylvia, in a rather marked way--
+
+"Ah! You didn't believe me when I told you I'd come and fetch you! But,
+you see, here I am."
+
+"Sweet of you, dear," said Sylvia.
+
+"And a fine place it is--well worth coming to see, isn't it?" said
+Frank, laughing a great deal.
+
+"Well, we'd better be off. I kept the cab because of dining at Aunt
+William's to-night. You know, Sylvia, we're late."
+
+"Oh, yes, dear. I'd almost given you up."
+
+As they went to the door, Savile suddenly turned round, and having
+decided a debate in his mind, said--
+
+"I know all about it. I congratulate you, Woodville. But we'll keep it
+dark a bit yet, eh?"
+
+Savile thought his knowing of the engagement made it more conventional.
+
+The brother and sister drove off.
+
+Sylvia was silent. Savile did not say a single word until they nearly
+reached home. Then he remarked casually--
+
+"As I found out where you'd gone, I thought it would sort of look
+better, eh, for me to fetch you? Didn't mean to be a bore or anything."
+
+"Oh, Savile dear, _thank_ you! I'll never----"
+
+"Yes; it's not going to happen again. Go and dress, old girl. Wear your
+pink. Motor'll be round in half an hour; heaps of time. I'm going too,
+you know--at Aunt William's."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+AT MRS. OGILVIE'S
+
+
+"I know what's the matter with you, Vera," said Felicity decidedly, as
+she sat down in her friend's flat in Cadogan Place. "It's that you
+haven't got the personal note!"
+
+"I?" said Vera indignantly.
+
+Mrs. Ogilvie was a very pretty dark woman of about thirty, who minimised
+her good looks and added to her apparent age by dressing in the style
+which had always suited her. Her dainty drawing-rooms were curiously
+conventional--the natural result of _carte-blanche_ to a fashionable
+upholsterer. She wore a blue-green Empire tea-gown, a long chain of
+uncut turquoises, a scarab ring, and a curious comb in her black, loose
+hair, and was always trying, and always trying in vain, to be unusual.
+Her name was Lucy (as any one who understood the subject of names must
+have seen at a glance), but she had changed it to Vera, on the ground
+that it was more Russian. There seemed no special object in this, as
+she had married a Scotchman. One really rare possession she certainly
+had--a husband who, notwithstanding that he felt a mild dislike for her
+merely, bullied her and interfered with her quite as much as if he were
+wildly in love. He was a rising barrister, and nearly every evening Vera
+had to undergo a very cross examination as to what she had done during
+the day, while being only too well aware that he neither listened to her
+answers, nor would have been interested if he had.
+
+She sought compensation by being in a continual state of vague
+enthusiasm about some one or other, invariably choosing for the god of
+her idolatry some young man who, for one reason or another, could not
+possibly respond in any way. Yet she was always very much admired,
+except by the objects of her own Platonic admiration. This gave a
+certain interest to her life; and her other great pleasure was
+worshipping and confiding in her friend Felicity.
+
+"Not the personal note!" repeated Mrs. Ogilvie, as if amazed. "I? I'm
+nothing if not original! Why, I actually copied that extraordinary gown
+we saw at the Gymnase when we were in Paris, and I wore it last night.
+It was a good deal noticed too----"
+
+"Oh, yes, you wore it; but you'd copied it. That's just the point,"
+said Felicity. "You can't become original by imitating some one else's
+peculiarities. The only way to be really unusual is to be oneself--which
+hardly anybody is. I can't see, though, why on earth you should wish it.
+It's much nicer to be like everybody else, I think."
+
+"Oh, that you can know from hearsay only, dear," said Vera. "Your
+husband's come back, hasn't he?" she added irrelevantly.
+
+"Yes. Now, there _is_ an unusual man, if you like!" said Felicity. "He
+has no pose of any sort or kind, and he hasn't the ordinary standard
+about anything in any way, but likes people really and genuinely on
+their _own_ merits--as he likes things--not because they're cheap or
+dear!"
+
+"It seems to me so extraordinary that a racing man who is more or less
+of a sportsman should think little ornaments matter so much! I mean,
+should worry about china, and so on."
+
+"It is hereditary, dear," said Felicity calmly. "One of his ancestors
+was a great collector, and the other wasn't--I forget what he was. I
+_think_ a friend of James I, or something military of that sort."
+
+"I'm afraid Chetwode's rather a gambler--that's the only thing that
+worries me for _you_, dear," said Vera.
+
+"What do you mean by that?" said Felicity.
+
+"Well ... I mean I shouldn't mind my husband attending sales and
+bringing home a lot of useless beautiful things.... At Christie's you
+know where you are to a certain extent ... but at Newmarket you don't."
+
+"Chetwode," said Felicity, "isn't a gambler in the ordinary sense. He
+never plays cards. Little pictures on paste-board fidget him, he says;
+he loathes Monte Carlo because it's vulgar, and he dislikes roulette and
+bridge. He's only a gambler in the best sense of the word--and that's a
+very fine sense!"
+
+"Oh dear, you _are_ so clever, Felicity! What _do_ you mean?"
+
+"Isn't every one worth anything more or less of a gambler? Isn't going
+to a dinner-party a risk--that you may be bored? Isn't marriage a
+lottery--and all that sort of thing? Chetwode is prepared to take risks.
+That's what I admire about him!"
+
+"He certainly stays away a great deal," said Vera.
+
+"Now, you're only pretending to be disagreeable. You don't mean it. He
+has just been explaining to me that he hates the sort of things that
+amuse _me_,--dances and the opera, and social things. Why, then, should
+he go with me? He does sometimes, but I know it's an agonising
+sacrifice. What do you think he is going to do to-night? A really rather
+dreadful thing."
+
+"_I_ don't know."
+
+"Dine with me at Aunt William's! A sort of family dinner. Aunt William
+has asked papa, Sylvia, Savile, and us, and I know just the sort of
+thing it will be. She has got some excellent match to take Sylvia to
+dinner, a boring married man for _me_, a suitable old widow or married
+man's wife for papa, Dolly Clive for Savile (although she isn't out--but
+then I suppose HE isn't out either, but she spoils Savile), and probably
+Chetwode will take HER in. Fairly horrible, isn't it? And you know the
+house. Wax flowers under glass, rep curtains. And the decorations on the
+table! A strip of looking-glass, surrounded by smilax! And the dinner!
+Twelve courses, port and sherry--all the fashions of 1860, or a little
+later, which is worse. Not mahogany and walnuts. Almonds and raisins."
+
+"How is it that you're not ill, and unable to go?" said Vera, looking
+really concerned, and almost anxious.
+
+"Because I happen to know that she has asked two or three people to come
+in in the evening. Bertie Wilton is one. He amuses her."
+
+"Bertie Wilton?" exclaimed Vera.
+
+"Yes. He's so clever and persevering! He's been making up steadily to
+Aunt William for several days, so that she might ask him to meet me. At
+last she has. As he says, everything comes to the man who won't wait."
+
+"I wonder she approves of him."
+
+"Well, she does in a sort of peculiar way, because he's of a good old
+family, and hasn't gone into anything--like stockbroking or business of
+any kind, and she thinks she can find him a nice suitable wife. She
+thinks Lucy Winter would be very suitable. Aunt William lives for
+suitability, you know. Isn't it funny of her?"
+
+Vera laughed. "Lucy? Why, I took him with Lucy and me to choose a hat,
+and there wasn't a thing she could wear. They don't get on at all. Lucy
+likes serious, intellectual men; she says Bertie's frothy and trivial.
+She wants to marry a great author, or a politician. However, thank
+goodness, she's left off bothering about Bobby Henderson." Here Vera
+sighed heavily.
+
+"Has Bobby left off bothering about Agatha? That's the point."
+
+"_I_ don't know," said Vera. "I don't understand him; we've been having
+some very curious scenes together lately. I can't think what he means."
+
+"He doesn't mean anything at all," said Felicity "and that's what you
+_won't_ understand. What curious things, as you call them, has he been
+doing lately?"
+
+"Well, he called yesterday by appointment."
+
+"_Your_ appointment, I suppose?" said Felicity.
+
+"By telephone," said Vera evasively. "And stayed two hours. And at last
+I took a very strong line."
+
+"Oh, good gracious! What were you wearing?"
+
+"My yellow gown--and the amber beads; it was quite late and the
+lights--pink shades--were turned on--or else it would have been too
+glaring, you know, dear."
+
+"What was your strong line?" said Felicity.
+
+"I suddenly said to him, like some one in a play, 'Do you dislike me,
+Captain Henderson?'"
+
+Felicity began to laugh. "What a fine speech! What did he say?"
+
+"He answered, 'If I did, I shouldn't be here.' After that--not directly
+after--he said, 'You look all right in yellow, Mrs. Ogilvie.' Do you
+think that shows great admiration--or not?"
+
+"I've heard more passionate declarations," said Felicity impartially.
+"It's the sort of thing Savile would say to _me_. What else did he talk
+about?"
+
+"Oh, about horses and things, and the new play at the Gaiety, and then I
+said, 'It's rather a tragic thing for a woman to say, perhaps, but I'm
+sure you don't care a bit for me, so perhaps you'd better not call any
+more.'"
+
+"What on earth did he say to that?" said Felicity.
+
+"I'll tell you the exact truth, dear," Vera answered. "He got up and
+walked round the room, and then said, 'I say, would you think it too
+awful if I asked for a drink?' What do you think that showed?"
+
+"It showed he was thirsty. I don't think he was going to faint away.
+Still, I suppose he _had_ a drink; and--then--what happened?"
+
+"I hardly like to tell you, dear."
+
+"Go on!"
+
+"I pressed him for his real opinion of me quite frankly, and he said:
+'Frankly, I think you're a very pretty woman, and very jolly, but aren't
+you a bit dotty on some subjects?' Of course I was very much hurt, and
+said, 'Certainly not about _you_!' So then he said, 'For instance, you
+always write that you have something particular to say to me, but you
+never say it. I left several important appointments this afternoon to
+come round, and you don't seem to have any news.' I _had_ said it, you
+see, but he didn't take it in. I was very much offended at his calling
+me dotty, but he explained afterwards he only meant that I was
+'artistic'!"
+
+Felicity went into fits of laughter. "Well, how did it end?"
+
+"I asked him to dinner for next Wednesday, and he said he was going out
+of town, and didn't know when he would be back. Now tell me, darling
+Felicity, _do_ you think he is going away to--try and conquer his
+feelings--or anything of that sort? That is what I should like to
+think," said Vera.
+
+"No," answered Felicity. "Either it was a lie, because your husband
+bores him and he didn't _want_ to come to dinner, or else he's really
+going to Newmarket, and doesn't know when he'll be back."
+
+"Tell me, Felicity. I can bear it.... Then--he does not care about me,
+and I ought to cut him out of my life?"
+
+"I think he likes you all right, but I really shouldn't worry about
+him," said Felicity.
+
+"Then I certainly shan't. I am far too proud! _How_ different Bertie
+Wilton is," she went on. "So amusing, and lively and nice to every one!
+But _he_ is devoted to _you_."
+
+"Oh, you can have him if you like," said Felicity, "and if you can. You
+wouldn't get on, really. You see, he isn't romantic, like you, and he
+likes people best who don't run after him."
+
+"Yes, I have often noticed that in people," said Vera thoughtfully.
+"I'll tell you _some one_, though, who really interests me; that is
+your friend, Arthur Mervyn, the actor. He has such a wonderful profile."
+
+"Yes--in fact, two. Oh, that reminds me, I came to ask you to come to
+Madame Tussaud's to-morrow afternoon. We're making up a party to go to
+the Chamber of Horrors. I'm taking Sylvia and Bertie. But I can't manage
+Arthur Mervyn and Bertie too,--at least, not at the Waxworks,--so I'm
+going some other day with him--I mean Arthur."
+
+"Oh, what fun! I should love to come! Thanks, dearest."
+
+"All right. Meet us there at four, and if you ever meet Arthur Mervyn
+again, _don't_ talk about the stage. He hates it."
+
+"What does he like?"
+
+"He's interested in murders, and things of that kind," said Felicity;
+"or anything cheery, you know, but _not_ the theatre."
+
+"Do you think he would come to see me if I asked him?" asked Vera.
+
+"He hates paying visits," said Felicity, and she glanced round the room
+judicially, "but if you can make him believe that some horrible crime
+has been acted here,--I must say it doesn't look like it, all pink and
+white!--then I think he _would_ call. Or, if you suggested--just
+hinted--that you believed the liftman had once been mixed up in some
+horrible case--I think he likes poisoning or strangling best--then he'd
+come like a shot!"
+
+Felicity got up laughing.
+
+"I say," she continued as she fastened her white furs, "have you heard
+the very latest thing about the Valettas and Guy Scott? Bertie's going
+to tell me all about it to-night; he is the only _really_ brilliant
+gossip I know. He's raised it to such an art that it's no longer gossip:
+it's modern history and psychology! First he gets his facts right; then
+he takes a sort of vivid analytical interest in every one--always a
+humorously sympathetic view, of course--and has so much imagination that
+he makes you _see_ the whole thing!"
+
+"Good gracious! I think I don't care for gossip about other people,"
+said Vera; "I'm sure I shouldn't like that at all. I am really only
+interested in my own life."
+
+"Then no wonder you find it so difficult to be amused, darling."
+
+They parted, kissing affectionately.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+LORD CHETWODE
+
+
+"I have to go down to Fulham this morning; don't let me forget it," said
+Lord Chetwode.
+
+He was sitting in the green library with Felicity, markedly abstaining
+from the newspapers surrounding him, and reading over an old catalogue.
+He was a fair, delicate-looking young man of twenty-eight years the
+amiability of whose expression seemed accentuated by the upward turning
+of his minute blonde moustache. He had deep blue eyes, rather far apart,
+regular features, and a full, very high forehead, on which the fair hair
+was already growing scanty. Tall and slight, he had a rather casual,
+boyish air, and beautiful but useful-looking white hands, the hands of
+the artist. His voice and manner had the soft unobtrusive gentleness
+that comes to those whose ancestors for long years have dared and
+commanded. In time, when there's nothing more to fight for, the dash
+naturally dies out.
+
+"My dear boy, why Fulham?" said Felicity, who was sitting at her
+writing-table not answering letters.
+
+"About that bit of china."
+
+"We don't want any more china, dear."
+
+"It isn't a question of what we want! It is a question of what it would
+be a crime to miss. Old Staffordshire going for nothing! Really,
+Felicity!"
+
+Felicity gave up the point. "I see.... How long are you going to stay in
+London?" she said.
+
+"Well, I was just thinking.... You know, I don't care much about the
+season."
+
+"You haven't had ten days of it," his wife answered. "Don't you think it
+looks rather odd always letting me go to dances and things alone?"
+
+"No. Why odd? You like them. I don't."
+
+She looked rather impatient. "Has it ever struck you that I'm--rather
+young--and not absolutely hideous?"
+
+"Yes, very often," he said smiling. "Don't I show how it strikes me?
+Why?"
+
+"It's so difficult to say. Don't you see; people try to flirt with me,
+and that sort of thing."
+
+"Oh yes, they would. Naturally."
+
+"Sometimes," said Felicity, darting a look at him like a needle, "I
+shouldn't be surprised if people fell in love with me. So there!"
+
+"You couldn't be less surprised than I should," said her husband, rather
+proudly. "Shows their good taste."
+
+"Well, for instance--you know Bertie Wilton, don't you?"
+
+"Oh yes, I think I've seen him. A boy who rattles about in a staring red
+motor-car. How any one on earth can stand those things when they can
+have horses----"
+
+"That's not the point, Chetwode. I think Bertie Wilton is really in love
+with me. I really do."
+
+Chetwode tried to look interested. "Is he though?"
+
+"Well, I don't like it," she said pettishly.
+
+"Then, don't stand it. But why? Isn't he a nice fellow?"
+
+"Oh yes, he's very _nice_. But he seems to--sort of think you neglect
+me."
+
+"But other men go away, for months at a time, shooting big game, or
+anything of that sort. Only shows he doesn't know.... _What_ an ass he
+must be!" Chetwode's voice showed slight irritation.
+
+"No he's not. He was quite disappointed that you came home the other
+night when Savile went to fetch you. He went away at once."
+
+"Poor chap!--Well, ask him to dinner," relented Chetwode.
+
+She got up and went close to him. "You're hopeless! Chetwode, do you
+really care for me--or do you like your curiosities and things better?"
+
+Lord Chetwode looked slightly nervous. His one mortal horror was
+anything that bore the most distant resemblance to a scene.
+
+"My dear child, why, surely you know you are far and away the most
+beautiful thing _I_ am ever likely to have in my collection!" he said,
+most admiringly.
+
+She turned away. She was terribly hurt; in her heart she had always
+feared her husband regarded her as a bibelot. The subject was, to her,
+too painful to discuss further. That he was sure of her--that showed
+knowledge of her--that she deserved. But he ought to have _minded about
+little things_ as she would. And he ought not always to be satisfied to
+leave her safe as the gem of the collection--and just come and look at
+it sometimes.
+
+Chetwode returned to the catalogue, and then said, "Of course you know
+I'm going to Teignmouth's for a week."
+
+"And you don't want _me_ to go?"
+
+"It's a man's party, darling! Only a week."
+
+"But wouldn't you like me to go racing with you sometimes? I would. I
+should love to."
+
+He looked up lazily. "I don't think a racecourse is the place for a
+woman. I like you better here. Of course, come if you like. Whenever you
+like. Would you like to see Princess Ida run?"
+
+"No, thanks.--Shall you be home to lunch?"
+
+"Yes, I dare say I shall. Are you lunching at home?"
+
+"I was going to Vera's, but I'd rather stay at home--for you."
+
+"Oh, don't do that, dear," he said decidedly. "I may look in at
+White's."
+
+"Well, when shall I see you?"
+
+"Why this evening, of course. Aren't we going to the opera, or
+something?" he asked.
+
+"Is it great agony for you to sit out Wagner?" She showed real sympathy.
+"It's Tannhaeuser, you know."
+
+"Can't say I'm keen about it," he answered in a depressed voice.
+
+"If you _like_," she said, slightly piqued, "I could easily go with
+Sylvia and papa."
+
+"All right--or, I know--don't let us go at all!" said Chetwode. He was
+now in the hall, and she followed him. "Anything I can do for you,
+darling?" Then he added, "Don't move for a minute!" He was admiring her
+golden hair against the tapestry, and smiled with the real pride of the
+_collectionneur_. "Yes, you must really have your portrait painted,
+Felicity," he said. "Sargent's the man, I think--or--well, we'll talk
+it over." He went out, and the door banged relentlessly.
+
+Felicity moved back to the library and looked in the little carved
+silver mirror that lay on the table. She saw tears gradually stealing
+into her beautiful blue eyes, enlarging them, and she grew so sorry for
+the lovely little sad face--in fact for herself!--that she hastily put
+down the looking-glass, ran upstairs, and rang for her maid to dress her
+to go out.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Chetwode completely failed in his mission, as the china-man, not
+expecting him to call so soon, had gone out for the day. He strolled
+down the Brompton Road, stopping from time to time to look at various
+pretty things in little curiosity shops, and then he thought, as a
+contrast, he would have a look at the Albert Memorial. But, changing his
+mind again, he went a little way into Kensington Gardens. Suddenly, he
+thought he recognised two people, rather beautiful people, who were
+sitting under a tree, talking together with animation. It was his
+sister-in-law, Sylvia, with her little dog, and Woodville. Before they
+saw him, Sylvia got up and walked quickly towards the Row with the dog.
+Woodville looked after her, and then strolled slowly towards the bridge.
+How well the sylvan surroundings suited them! Sylvia was a wood nymph
+in a fashionable dress; Woodville, a faun in Bond Street clothes.
+Chetwode smiled to himself. Then for a moment he was surprised.... It
+seemed odd to see the secretary so far from his usual haunts. Why should
+Sylvia sit in Kensington Gardens with him, and then go on alone to the
+Row? However, he thought, it wasn't his business. As he walked towards
+Knightsbridge, it struck him that he would tell Felicity. She would
+understand, and explain. Then he thought he wouldn't tell Felicity. He
+had a curious delicate dislike to mentioning anything he had seen
+accidentally. He would chaff Sylvia about it when he saw her again....
+No, he wouldn't; it would be a shame to make a girl uncomfortable. He
+would mention it to Woodville. Yes, that was it; he would chaff
+Woodville about it....
+
+Seeing a hansom, he jumped into it and went to the Club. As he drove
+there he remembered vaguely several little things that he had noticed
+subconsciously before, and he began to think that probably Woodville and
+Sylvia were in love with each other. What more natural! In that case one
+wouldn't talk about it. It might annoy them. There was nothing on earth
+Lord Chetwode disliked so much as the idea of anything that would annoy
+any one.
+
+So he never did tell Woodville nor anybody else. When it did not slip
+his memory, his almost morbid dread of anything disagreeable prevented
+his mentioning it, and he left London without having spoken of the
+incident. Probably it was of no importance after all.
+
+At this time Woodville was really miserable. Their position was more
+difficult than ever. Of course he had kept his word to her, and written
+to Ridokanaki that he could not accept the offer. They remained
+privately engaged, and waiting; Savile their only confidant. He had got
+rid of the little studio, and was half sorry and half relieved not to be
+able to go there as a retreat. It had some painful but also some
+exquisite associations. Since he had made the sacrifice of Athens for
+Sylvia--for it was a sacrifice--he was, of course, more in love with her
+than before. That quarter of an hour in Kensington Gardens this morning
+was the only clandestine appointment they had ever made in the course of
+five years.
+
+How often he remembered the day he had first arrived at the Croftons!
+Sylvia was fifteen then, and her governess, Miss Dawe, took the place,
+as far as could be, of her dead mother, chaperoning Felicity and
+teaching Sylvia. He remembered that it was bitterly cold and snowing
+hard. As he passed the schoolroom, of which the door was open, to his
+own room, escorted by the servant, he heard what sounded like a quarrel
+going on. A poor old man with a battered accordion was making a pathetic
+noise on the cold pavement.
+
+"You shall _not_ do it, Sylvia!" Miss Dawe was speaking authoritatively.
+"Your father did not give you five pounds to throw away. It isn't the
+right thing for young ladies to run down to the hall." And Felicity's
+voice said imperiously, he knew it afterwards, "Quick; ring the bell,
+and tell Price to give him the money."
+
+While the electric bell was being rung he distinctly heard the window
+flung wide open, and a soft thud on the pavement. Sylvia had thrown her
+purse into the street. From his own room next to the schoolroom, he saw
+the man pick it up and go away. The doors were closed now, but he
+imagined the governess's anger. The incident had afterwards seemed very
+characteristic of the two girls, and he often thought of it.... That
+evening at dinner he met Sylvia for the first time, and he felt now as
+if he had loved her ever since. But it was not until three years ago,
+when she was seventeen, that he betrayed himself, by some word or
+look.... As she grew into a woman she filled his life, became his one
+joy and torment. On Felicity's wedding-day he had told Sylvia of his
+love, and they had become engaged. How was it to end?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+MADAME TUSSAUD'S
+
+
+"Savile," said Sylvia, smoothing his tie unnecessarily (a process that
+he endured like a martyr who had been very well brought up), "Felicity's
+coming to fetch me to go to Madame Tussaud's this afternoon. Would you
+like to come too, dear?"
+
+"Who's your party?"
+
+"Frank is going to meet us there, and Mrs. Ogilvie and Bertie Wilton."
+
+"Oh, then, can I bring Dolly Clive?"
+
+"Yes, of course, she's sweet. But--will they let her come?"
+
+"Yes, they will with us. It's good for her history, and she can have a
+look in at her precious Charles II. What time?"
+
+"Punctually about four," Felicity said. "Don't forget, Savile!"
+
+"Righto! I'll bring Dolly and take her back. I say, shall we have tea
+there?"
+
+"Of course, if you want to. Why fancy, Frank said it would be the
+greatest joke to _dine_ there! You can, you know, if you like;
+wouldn't it be fun, and ghastly, with Byron and Peace, and Sir
+Campbell-Bannerman, and people like that, looking on?"
+
+"No it wouldn't. These ghastly jokes never come off. They last too long.
+While you're about it, have a good dinner for Heaven's sake. And I dare
+say the people at the Savoy are quite as bad--if that's all--if you only
+knew, and more up to date."
+
+"Yes, very likely, and people at real places often have no more
+expression than the waxworks. But, Savile, I thought it was all off
+between you and Dolly now?"
+
+He answered, with a sigh, "So it is, in a way, but you'll learn in this
+life, old girl, that you must take what you can get--especially if
+you're not sure you can get it! Mind you," lowering his voice, "that
+little foreign bounder, de Saules, isn't going to have it all his own
+way."
+
+"Oh," Sylvia, being in good spirits, was inclined to tease him, "I
+should have thought it would be a capital opportunity to show an
+intelligent foreigner the sights of London!"
+
+"The intelligent foreigners _are_ the sights of London," said Savile as
+he went out.
+
+The same morning Vera rustled into her friend's room, with her usual air
+of vagueness and devotion, and said with a sort of despairing cry--
+
+"Oh, Felicity darling! you're the only person in the world who always
+has clothes for every occasion, and knows everything. How on earth does
+one dress for Tussaud's? Should you regard it as a Private View, or
+treat it more like--say--Princes'?"
+
+"Neither. Why on earth Princes'? Were you thinking of bringing your
+skates?"
+
+"Don't be absurd. Then I had better not wear my new Paquin?"
+
+"Certainly not. Nothing trailing, or showy. But for Heaven's sake don't
+dress for skating or bicycling. I fancy there is a notice up to say you
+can't do either of those things there. And please not too much of your
+Oriental embroideries."
+
+"Well, my new tailor-made dress then, and a large hat?"
+
+Felicity laughed.
+
+"My dear girl, what does it matter? If you fondly imagine that any one
+will look at your dress while there are _real_ horrors to see----!"
+
+"Darling little creature!" said Vera, who absolutely idolised Felicity,
+and looked up to her in the most absurd way, although she was five years
+younger--often taking her ironical advice quite literally, and regarding
+her as a rare combination of faultless angel, brilliant genius, and
+perfect beauty.
+
+"And now," said Felicity, standing up to her full height--which was far
+from imposing--"_Go_, please, Vera! I expect the hairdresser."
+
+"Oh, then, you're taking a little trouble, after all," Vera said,
+laughing, and she vanished vaguely, behind a brocaded _portiere_,
+leaving a very faint perfume of gilliflower.
+
+The party met fairly punctually in the hideous hall, furnished with
+draughts and red velvet. The gloom was intensified by the sound of an
+emaciated orchestra playing "She was a Miller's Daughter," with a thin
+reckless airiness that was almost ghostly.
+
+"Let's be a regular party," said Felicity, "and keep together, and get
+that nice chasseur-looking person to show us round."
+
+Savile and Dolly preferred to stroll about alone, with a catalogue, and
+"take the Royal Family in their order." Woodville and Sylvia sat down
+near the band.
+
+The amiable chasseur, who greatly enjoyed his work, and who saw that the
+living celebrities left our friends rather cold, showed them "The road
+to ruing," as displayed in six tableaux.
+
+"No. 1, Temptation. 'Ere you see the young man being tempted to 'is
+ruing by cards--and what not."
+
+The party gazed at the green table on which were strewn a few cards.
+
+"Fancy being able to be ruined by only half a pack of cards!" said
+Felicity admiringly.
+
+"Who," asked Wilton with interest, "is the lady in crimson satin, with
+pearls as big as oysters and diamonds like broken windows, holding out
+her hand so cordially to welcome the young man with long hair and an
+intelligent expression? (Obviously a very excellent model of Arthur
+Symons, the poet)."
+
+"Why, she's the Decoy," said the chasseur, with intense relish. A
+sinister man with very black hair (probably in collusion with the decoy)
+was looking on, enjoying the scene.
+
+"How symbolic those two champagne-glasses are on the card-table! What is
+that dark brown liquid in them?" asked Wilton.
+
+"Still champagne, I suppose," said Felicity.
+
+"Oh dear, yes, ma'am! It ain't been changed. Nothing's been changed."
+
+"How sad it all is!" sighed Vera.
+
+"It gets better later on," said Bertie consolingly.
+
+"No. 3. 'Ere you find 'im ruinged by gambling. Take notice of the evil
+appearance of 'is accomplice."
+
+The young man was now forging ahead for all he was worth (and a great
+deal more) with a cheque-book and a fountain pen. The sinister friend
+was leaning over his shoulder as if to jog his elbow.
+
+"No. 4. 'Ere you see the sad result of all these goings on," said the
+chasseur morally, if vaguely. "The pore young man is condemned to
+several years."
+
+"Does he break out again?" asked Wilton.
+
+"Oh, lor', yes, sir! Don't you fret! _he_ breaks out again all right.
+And 'ere you 'ave _Revenge_! A dark resolve 'as taken distinct form in
+the ruinged man's mind."
+
+"Poor man, how long his hair has grown in prison," murmured Felicity
+sympathetically. "Who has he killed?"
+
+"Why, the decoy!" said the chasseur, "and (if you ask me) serve 'er
+right!"
+
+"How helpful all this is," said Bertie Wilton. "I feel really a better
+man since I've seen it. Seriously, I don't think I shall ever drink
+champagne of that colour now that we have seen the appalling results.
+It's a terrible lesson, isn't it, Lady Chetwode?"
+
+They left the young man to his fate and followed the showman.
+
+"'Ere we see Mary Manning, also Frederick George of same name, who, in
+singularly atrocious circumstances, killed a retired custom-'ouse
+officer."
+
+"Why?" asked Vera inquisitively.
+
+"They took against him, miss."
+
+"I think I like the ladies best," said Bertie. "Who is this really
+terrible-looking woman?"
+
+The showman hurried towards him, still repeating like a parrot what he
+wished to tell them about Manning.
+
+"Yes, Manning was a railway guard, and 'is wife was highly connected
+with the best families--as lady's-maid. Ah, sir, you're looking at
+Cathering Webster. She was executed for the murder of another lady at
+Richmond. Jealousy was the reason of 'er motive for the crime."
+
+"I say," said Felicity suddenly, to the guide, "don't you find all this
+terribly depressing? Do you hate all these creatures?"
+
+"No, miss," said the showman smilingly, "I'm so used to them. I regard
+them almost like relations. 'Ere we 'ave a couple of French criminals.
+_Their_ little game, if you please, was to decoy to their 'ome young
+ladies, and take away all their belongings, and everything else they
+possessed."
+
+"Oh, how horrid of them!" said Vera indignantly.
+
+The chasseur grinned. "Yes, they weren't nice people, miss."
+
+"I think you would like Burke and Hare, sir," he said persuasively to
+Wilton. "Let me tell you a bit about them."
+
+"He talks as if they were Marshall and Snelgrove," murmured Wilton.
+
+"What was the reason of their motive?" asked Felicity.
+
+"Strychnine, miss," readily answered the well-informed guide.
+
+"I suppose people get awfully hardened, eventually, to this sort of
+thing? _I'm_ not. I'm terribly nervous. I'm frightened out of my life.
+If it weren't for you, Lady Chetwode, I should faint, and be carried out
+by the emergency exit."
+
+While the chasseur went into atrocious details, Bertie was so frightened
+that he had to hold Felicity's hand.... Vera felt quite out of it, and
+in the cold. When once they got into the Chamber of Horrors, nobody had
+taken any notice of her, nor even heard her remarks. Felicity and Bertie
+were evidently at once excited and amused. As she was standing alone
+pretending to look at some relics, the gallant chasseur came up and
+said, "There's an emergency exit 'ere, if you like to go out 'ere,
+madam."
+
+"There seems to be nothing else," said Bertie. "As soon as you get into
+Madame Tussaud's the main object seems to be to drive you out. They
+keep on telling you _how_ you can get out, and _where_ you can get out,
+and when. How wonderful a fire would be here!"
+
+"Do you think Sylvia got out by one of the emergency exits? I haven't
+seen her or Woodville for some time."
+
+"Oh, can't you let them have tea in peace?" said Bertie.
+
+"I'm sure they are not having tea. Sylvia hates Bath buns. But we'll go
+and look for them, and the children too."
+
+Savile and Dolly were found on a red velvet sofa, sulking, while Sylvia
+and Woodville were still listening to the band.
+
+Dolly complained that Savile had been "horrid to her about Charles II,"
+and that he said she was too young to see the Horrors.
+
+Sylvia and Woodville had simply forgotten all about the waxworks.
+
+The band was so very good and had been playing musical-comedy airs so
+charmingly.
+
+Wilton declared his nerves were completely shattered and he must have a
+rest cure in the form of being driven home by Felicity, he could not
+possibly go alone.
+
+Vera had to fetch Mr. Ogilvie from the chambers. Savile, feeling very
+grown-up, drove Dolly back in a hansom.
+
+"Oughtn't I to take you?" said Felicity to Sylvia.
+
+"My dear Lady Chetwode, please remember that Woodville is staying in the
+same house as Miss Crofton, and it is perfectly absurd, and cruelty to
+the horses to drag them out of their way, when you live in Park Street,
+and I only a stone's-throw from you! _Do_ be practical!" cried Wilton.
+
+"Oh, all right."
+
+"Won't you take Miss Sylvia home?" said Bertie.
+
+"Oh, certainly," said Woodville, and they walked a little way towards
+the cab together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ever since Ridokanaki's departure, Woodville, having consented to keep
+their engagement secret until Sylvia was twenty-one, had sought, and
+thought he had found, a solution, which was at once balm to his
+conscience and support to his pride. Sylvia and he should make a compact
+that they should be to one another in reality as they appeared to her
+father, and to the world: friends only. They would neither seek nor
+avoid _tete-a-tetes_, and when alone would ignore, crush, and
+temporarily forget their tenderer relations. Sylvia had willingly,
+eagerly agreed. She knew, in fact, that these were the only terms on
+which he would remain there. And yet it was rather hard. She remembered
+(how clearly!) that during all these years he had kissed her on seven
+separate occasions only, and those occasions, after the first, were
+always, or nearly always, at her suggestion--because it was her
+birthday--or because it was Christmas Day--because she was unhappy--or
+because he was in good spirits, and similar reasons. How admirable they
+had seemed! How sophistically she argued!
+
+All this, Woodville had explained, must now cease. He tried with some
+difficulty to point out to her that this innovation was because he loved
+her, not less, but more. He could not trust himself, and did not intend
+to try. She was so happy to think he had given up going to Athens that
+she was only too glad to consent to anything.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This was the first time they had been alone since the compact. She
+looked at him beamingly as they started on their drive.
+
+"But I'm not going home," said Woodville.
+
+"Aren't you? Where are you going?"
+
+"To the Beafsteak Club. I'm dining with Mervyn, and we're not going to
+dress. I'll take you home first, if you like."
+
+"No," said Sylvia. "I shall drive you nearly as far as the Club, drop
+you, and then go home by myself." She spoke decidedly, and gave the
+direction to the cabman. She had calculated that it would be a longer
+drive.
+
+"It's twice as far!" she said with childish triumph. He looked at her
+trusting, adoring eyes, her smiling, longing lips, and looked out of the
+window. She put her hand on his arm, and he moved away quickly, almost
+shaking her off. With a smile she sat as far from him as possible. They
+began talking of all kinds of things--Sylvia talked most and most
+gaily--then, gradually, they fell into silence.
+
+It was the end of a warm April day; they passed quickly, in the jingling
+cab, through the stale London streets, breathing the spring air that
+paradoxically suggested country walks, tender vows, sentiment and
+romance.... Was she hurt at his coldness? On the contrary, it seemed to
+exhilarate her. So close, yet so absolutely separated--not in mind, but
+by his will only--by that extraordinary moral sense of his, that was, to
+her, in her innocence, a dark mystery. Sylvia never forgot that drive.
+She felt one of those unforgettable moments of exalted passion, like the
+attainment of some great height that one may never reach again. She
+worshipped him.
+
+As they reached the end of their drive, the personal magnetism was
+almost too strong for her--she nearly took his hand again, but
+resisted. The cab stopped.
+
+"I should like to drive you back, Sylvia," he said, as he got out,
+"but--it's better not."
+
+"All right!--Good-bye! I suppose I shall see you to-morrow morning."
+
+"I hate leaving you here," he said.
+
+"Never mind!" She smiled brightly, and waved her hand. The cab drove
+off, and he seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness of the street,
+looking, as she thought, very wonderful, very handsome.... Then, quite
+suddenly, she felt cold, quite lonely, almost forsaken....
+
+For hours she could not shake off the horrible impression of his walking
+away from her into the darkness, leaving her alone.
+
+After her conventional evening at home, she shed bitter tears on her
+pillow. Could he care for her really? She knew he did, and she suddenly
+suspected that it was a sort of pleasure, a kind of indulgence to him to
+play the ascetic when so near her, and at this fancy she felt a little
+momentary resentment. But as soon as she saw him again, a word or a
+smile was sunshine and life to her. She wanted so little, and she was
+again her happy and gentle self.... At least, she could see him--while,
+if he had gone to Athens.... Surely they would not have to wait a year?
+No--Savile would find out some splendid arrangement that would make it
+all right. She loved Woodville too much not to be hopeful; he cared too
+much for her not to feel, almost, despair. The conditions of their
+present existence were far harder for him, though she never knew it, and
+did not dream how much she--not he--was exacting.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A GOLDEN DAY
+
+
+Woodville was sitting in the library, supposed to be digging up old
+Bluebooks for Sir James, but, instead, he found himself lingering over a
+curious book of poems with a white cover and a black mask on the
+outside. He read (and sighed):
+
+   Dear, were you mine for one full hour,
+     A lifetime, an hour, that is all I ask.
+   Dear, like a thing of lace, or a flower
+     Before the end would you drop your mask?
+
+   Dear, days and hours are not for me--
+     I may not know you, nor forgive,
+   For you are like the distant sea,
+     And I upon the hills must live.
+
+"This," he said to himself, "is rot for me! It isn't a good poem,--and
+if it were a good poem (it has _some_ good qualities) it's idiotic for
+me to read poetry. What _is_ the matter with me?" He put down all the
+books, and went and looked at himself in the mirror. He saw a face
+rather paler, more worn than some weeks ago.
+
+For the last few nights Woodville had suffered from insomnia--a trouble
+at which he used to scoff and smile, firmly believing, until it had been
+his own experience, that it was affectation. The second day that he had
+gone to look out of the window at about five o'clock in the morning,
+feeling that curious lucid clearness of brain, almost a kind of
+second-sight, sometimes produced by unwonted sleeplessness, he still
+thought that people made much too much fuss about a restless night or
+two.
+
+"Suppose a fellow couldn't sleep for a time! Well, he can read, or work.
+It was nothing." But, about eleven in the morning the exaltation of the
+wakefulness had gone off, and he felt stupid and depressed. He suddenly
+began to feel anxious about himself. Of course, it was all Sylvia! This
+life, seeing her more or less all day, under the same roof, pretending
+to be only friends, without any sort of vent, any expression, verbal or
+otherwise, for his sentiment, was impossible! It was unbearable! He
+ought to have gone to Athens.... Suddenly Sylvia came into the room. She
+looked the picture of freshness and happiness. She had come to fetch a
+book, she said. But she lingered a moment, to ask Woodville if he liked
+her new dress. It was a Paris marvel of simplicity in pale grey, and
+neither disguised nor over-emphasised the lines of her exquisite figure.
+
+"Yes, I think it's all right," said Woodville.
+
+"_All right!_" she exclaimed indignantly. "Don't you _see_ how it fits?
+Why, it's simply wonderful! How heartless you are!" There was just a
+tinge of coquetry in her manner, which was rather unwonted. "You're not
+looking very well to-day," she said, looking sympathetically at him.
+
+"I'm very well. I'm always all right."
+
+"Are you angry with me, Frank? What's the matter? What's that you're
+reading?" She snatched the book of poems away from him, read the poem
+and blushed with pleasure.
+
+"Yes! You see that's what I'm reduced to!" he said.
+
+"Frank, I don't think you go out enough. Look, what a lovely day it is!"
+
+"Where do you propose I should go? To the theatre to-night? I hate
+theatres." He spoke irritably.
+
+"No," she said in a low, soft voice; "let's break the compact, just for
+once--_just for once!_" She was instinctively taking advantage of a kind
+of weakness he showed this morning for the first time--due to his
+nervous fatigue--the weariness of long self-repression.
+
+"Certainly not!" he answered, with no conviction whatever. "Whose
+birthday is it? It isn't Christmas Day--it isn't Midsummer Day. No! I
+don't see any excuse for doing it."
+
+"Yes, there's a reason! It will be Sexagesima Sunday next week!"
+
+"So it will!"
+
+"Ah, you admit that! Well, let's go and have lunch at Richmond--or
+somewhere like that!"
+
+"My poor dear child, what's the matter! You're not sane.... Besides,
+it's impossible," said Woodville, hesitating, in a hopeful voice.
+
+"It isn't impossible. Papa's gone out for the whole day. Leave it to me!
+I'll arrange it. If the worst came to the worst, I could tell papa that
+I longed for a little air and made you take me down to Richmond! Why!
+you know he wouldn't mind. He would see nothing in it. We'd be back
+before five."
+
+Woodville looked tempted.
+
+"Besides, there would _be_ nothing in it," added Sylvia softly.
+
+He took her hand. "Temptress!" he said. "Of course there wouldn't be any
+earthly harm in it," he said doubtfully.
+
+"Then we're going to do it!"
+
+"Are we, Eve?"
+
+"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed passionately, "it's too absurd, too
+unnatural! Why shouldn't we have a moment's happiness? Aren't we going
+to be married next year?"
+
+"Probably, if I live through this one."
+
+She was smiling, for she knew she had won. "Yes, you'll live through it
+all right--if you only have a little fresh air and change of scene now
+and then!"
+
+"I couldn't do it, Sylvia!--How should we go?"
+
+"Drive in a hansom?"
+
+"No, I'll meet you at the Underground Railway at Earl's Court."
+
+"When?" she asked.
+
+"In twenty minutes."
+
+"All right. We'll have a holiday! Everybody has a holiday sometimes!
+It's a heavenly day! We will go and walk in Richmond Park and forget all
+about the compact worries till we come back at tea-time. Papa won't,
+then, be back, and no one will ever know anything about it!" She clapped
+her hands. He smiled at her.
+
+"It's settled," he said.
+
+As she went out of the door, she murmured, "In twenty minutes, then,"
+and vanished, radiant.
+
+When she had gone, he found all trace of his usual scruples had
+inexplicably disappeared. It was natural, and (he said to himself) it
+was right! What use was this continual sacrifice of the precious hours
+and days of their youth--for an Idea? Besides, she looked so lovely. A
+man must be a stone to refuse such a delightful suggestion, or a fool.
+He was neither. The reaction was inevitable, and in half an hour they
+were in the train together, in the highest spirits, all cares thrown
+aside, in the hope of the spring, of sunlight, fresh air, and above all,
+being together alone, free, for several hours. It seemed like a dream, a
+dream with the added substantial tangible joy of being real.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+SAVILE TAKES A LINE
+
+
+"Hallo, Savile!" said Felicity, who was putting the last touch to her
+veil in front of the mirror. "Nice boy! You're just what I wanted. Come
+out with me!"
+
+It was about twelve o'clock, a lovely warm morning. The first hum of the
+season was just beginning, like the big orchestra of London tuning up.
+There seemed a sort of suppressed excitement in the air. People of
+average spirits appeared unusually happy; the very highly strung seemed
+just a little wild; their eyes dancing, their tread lighter, and laughs
+were heard on the smallest provocation. Certainly the vision that met
+Felicity in the mirror was exhilarating enough. Dressed in the softest
+of blues, with a large brown hat on her golden hair, she looked like a
+pastel--a combination of the vagueness, remoteness, and delicacy of a
+Whistler with the concrete piquancy of a sketch in _L'Art et La Mode_.
+
+Savile, however, showed none of the intoxicating effect of a gay London
+morning. He seemed more serious, more self-controlled, more correct even
+than usual.
+
+"Where's Chetwode?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, he's just going out, dear, I think. Do you want him? Shall I ring?"
+
+"No; I shouldn't ring. What's the point of that except to delay my
+seeing him? No; I want to see him, so I'll go and look for him, and
+perhaps go out with him. I suppose you're driving, and don't need me?"
+
+"_Need_ you? Oh no, darling; not exactly. Only I thought it would be fun
+to go out and look at the people in the Row--and laugh at them. Besides,
+I always drive down Piccadilly and Bond Street when I have a new hat, to
+find out whether it suits me. It's such fun. I can always tell."
+
+"Frightfully comic, no doubt, but I've got something more important to
+think about this morning."
+
+"What a bad temper you're in, Savile! Anything wrong, darling?"
+
+"Just like a girl!" said Savile. "I never _yet_ showed any woman I had
+something to do that she didn't say I was in a bad temper."
+
+Felicity laughed. He went to the door and added--
+
+"Oh, by the way, don't trouble to give my love to Wilton."
+
+She made a rush for him, and he ran out of the room.
+
+He found Lord Chetwode, as usual, in the green library, not reading the
+newspapers, and reposefully smoking. Savile accepted a cigarette and sat
+down.
+
+"Thought you were going out?" said Savile.
+
+"Yes, so did I. But why go out? It's all right here. Besides, I _am_
+going out. No hurry."
+
+"Good," said Savile, and they smoked in silence.
+
+"You're not stopping in town long, are you?" said Savile.
+
+"No, old boy. Season's beginning. I hate London. I'm going week-ending
+next Saturday."
+
+"And you won't come back?"
+
+"I shall probably stop ten days."
+
+"I've got something to say to you," said Savile.
+
+Lord Chetwode smiled encouragingly.
+
+"Fire away!"
+
+"There's something I want particularly to ask you."
+
+There was a pause. Such a remark as this from any one but Savile would
+have alarmed Chetwode, suggesting something in the nature of a scene,
+but he felt pretty safe with his brother-in-law of sixteen. He wondered
+what on earth the boy wanted, and felt only good-humouredly amused.
+Savile had chosen his words before he came, and had that rash longing we
+all feel when we have made out a verbal programme, to make the suitable
+remark before the occasion arises.
+
+"We're both men of the world," began Savile.
+
+"Are we, though?" said Chetwode. "Please spare me this irony! _You_'re a
+man of the world all right, I know. _I_ don't pretend to be."
+
+"May as well come to the point," said Savile. "You know Woodville, don't
+you?"
+
+"Woodville? Rather. Capital chap. What's wrong with him?"
+
+"There's nothing wrong with him," said Savile, "but I want to get him
+something to do."
+
+"Really? Doesn't he like being with you and Sir James and Sylvia, and
+all that?"
+
+"Yes, he likes it all right. But he isn't much with Sylvia and all that.
+He'd like to be more. So would she--a good deal more. That's the point."
+
+Chetwode instantly recollected the incident in the Park. He said without
+turning a hair, "Quite so. Most natural, I'm sure----" and then thought
+a moment. Savile was silent.
+
+"What Woodville _needs_," said Chetwode, lighting another cigarette,
+"is, of course, less of you and Sir James, and a great deal more of
+Sylvia; and he can't very well marry her while he's her father's
+secretary. Though--by Jove!--I don't see why not!"
+
+"What rot!" said Savile.
+
+"Yes, you're right, Savile. It's true Sir James wouldn't give him a
+minute's time for anything. Well, you want me to get him something to do
+then?"
+
+"Now, look here, Chetwode, don't play the fool about this. Here's a
+chap, considered a brilliant man at Oxford; in every way a thoroughly
+good sort, and a gentleman, who, if it weren't for circumstances, would
+have been called a good match."
+
+"If it weren't for circumstances, anybody would be called a good match,"
+said Chetwode casually.
+
+"What sort of thing do you think you can get him?" asked Savile, "before
+Saturday?"
+
+"Before Saturday? Well, what sort of thing does he want before
+Saturday?"
+
+"Oh, something political. Or some post--or something diplomatic."
+
+"You're pleased to be vague," said Chetwode, bowing.
+
+"Oh, all right! Then you can't do it?" Savile stood up.
+
+"Please, Savile, no violence! Take another cigarette. Of course, the
+idea is that I must talk to somebody. Perhaps Teignmouth----"
+
+"Put the whole thing before him," said Savile.
+
+"The beastly part is no one will stand being talked to about things, and
+everybody hates having the whole matter put before them--unless it's
+gossip. Then, by Jove, won't they go into details!"
+
+Savile controlled his feelings, and said, "Well, here's a romantic
+story, a lovely girl--young man disinherited----"
+
+Chetwode visibly shrank from the explicitness.
+
+"All right, old boy. Look here, I see your point--I give you my word
+I'll try."
+
+Savile, terrified at the thought that he might have been a bore, got up
+again and held out his hand.
+
+"When will you let me know?"
+
+"As soon as I've seen anybody or done anything that seems to help at
+all.... Let's see, what's your telephone number?"
+
+"I haven't got any telephone number," said Savile, "at least, not on
+_this_ subject. Won't kill you to wire and let me know when I can see
+you again."
+
+"Good! that's the idea. And look here, Savile, you think I am not going
+to trouble, I can see that. But you happen to be wrong. I'll fix it up
+all right."
+
+"I thought you would," said Savile.
+
+"And we won't talk it over, don't you know, to--a--women or anything.
+Eh?"
+
+"Catch me," said Savile.
+
+"Well, I must go out now," said Chetwode. "Can I drop you?"
+
+"Think I'll walk," said Savile.
+
+They shook hands most cordially. Chetwode went out smiling to himself,
+and strolled towards the Club.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+FELICITY'S ENGAGEMENTS
+
+
+"Is Lady Chetwode at home?"
+
+Before Greenstock, who seemed about to give a negative answer, could
+reply, Wilton went on.
+
+"Oh yes, she _must_ be at home; please ask her to read this note, and
+send me down a verbal answer immediately."
+
+"Very well, sir."
+
+"I won't get out, Greenstock. I'll just wait in the motor till I get an
+answer."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Wilton turned to the chauffeur and said, "How do you think she's looking
+to-day, Pearce?"
+
+The motor had recently been painted green, because Felicity had said it
+was too compromising to drive with Wilton in a scarlet one.
+
+"Never better, sir," said the chauffeur.
+
+"You know I _was_ right, Pearce. Green suits her much better than
+scarlet. In fact, I rather doubt whether you could point me out a case
+in which I am ever wrong, Pearce. With regard to the motor, I mean, of
+course."
+
+"Oh no, sir."
+
+"How do you mean 'Oh no'? Do you mean I'm ever wrong then?"
+
+"Oh no, sir."
+
+They both looked with suppressed pride at the automobile which was
+snorting rather impatiently under these personal remarks.
+
+Greenstock appeared.
+
+"Will you step in, sir?"
+
+At the summons Wilton sprang out and ran quickly up into the
+drawing-room.
+
+It was a beautiful room with hardly anything in it; a large, high, empty
+room in pure First Empire style. A small yellow sofa with gilded claws,
+and narrow bolster cushions, was near the fireplace; a light blue curved
+settee, with animals' heads, was in the middle of the room. There was a
+highly polished parquet floor with no carpet, a magnificent chandelier,
+and the curtains were held up by elaborately carved and gilded cornices
+with warlike ornaments.
+
+Bertie wandered round the room, tried, vainly, to see himself in the
+narrow looking-glass, which was placed too high, and admired the
+refreshing absence of fat cushions, unnecessary draperies, photographs,
+and vases of flowers. On a small console-table was one immense basket
+of mauve orchids. Bertie was looking at this with some curiosity, not
+unmixed with annoyance, when Felicity came into the room.
+
+"How _marvellous_ of you!" he exclaimed. "Again I'm thunderstruck at
+your having _exactly_ the right thing to wear, to come down early in the
+morning to see a too persistent friend!" He looked at her dress. "Pale
+green--how well it suits you; and how wonderful of you to be so
+empireish--at this hour!"
+
+"What _do_ you want, Bertie?" said Felicity, smiling, but impatiently.
+
+"Oh, please don't be so definite! and I thought you knew!"
+
+"Please don't be so imbecile; I don't want to know."
+
+They both sat down, and she held out the letter.
+
+"I didn't read all this," she said; "but you seem to have given me a
+programme of your engagements for to-day. I can't think why."
+
+"Because I want to know yours. To come to the point," said Wilton. "If I
+go to the Ogilvies', will you be there?"
+
+"Well, of course! As if Vera could have a musical afternoon without me!"
+
+"Good, that's settled. And what are you doing to-night?"
+
+"Well, which do you advise?" she said. "The Creepers'? Or Jasmyn Vere's
+party?"
+
+"If I might advise, _do_ go there. His things are really rather jolly.
+Is Chetwode coming?"
+
+"No, Chetwode's struck. He won't go to anything more. He's going away on
+Saturday for the week end, so I shall stop at home with him to-morrow.
+To-night I'll go to Jasmyn Vere's. What time does one get there?"
+
+"One gets there a little before you do, for the pleasure of the anxiety
+and agonising suspense of dreading you won't come and knowing you will."
+He got up. "If you would turn up at half-past ten--before the crush--we
+could sort of sit out, and laugh at the people."
+
+"Perhaps I shall," said Felicity.
+
+"Lady Chetwode, you are as good as you are beautiful."
+
+"Oh, don't carry on like that, Bertie! I suppose it's through your
+having gone to that ball as Louis XIX; every now and then you seem to
+think you're in the last century."
+
+"But when I'm here, I know I'm in the next," and he took his leave in
+the highest spirits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At lunch, "Chetwode," said Felicity, "I shall be at Vera's till seven.
+They're going to have the wonderful new child harpist. He looks like a
+sort of cherub, with golden hair."
+
+"Little beast," said Chetwode, "he ought to be in bed."
+
+"Oh, darling, not at four in the afternoon! And what about to-night? I
+suppose we dine together at home? and then I'm going to Jasmyn Vere's,
+one of his musical parties."
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Chetwode dear, you know the horses will be out all the afternoon. I
+thought I'd have the carriage just to _take_ me to the party and come
+home in a cab--it's only round the corner. Is there any off-chance of
+your coming to fetch me? Oh _do_! You really might!"
+
+"No," said Chetwode. He added, "No doubt Wilton will see you home."
+
+She looked up quickly. Was there a tone of irony in his voice? Could he
+be a shade jealous? How delightful!
+
+"Why, I can come home alone," she said. "It's not sure that Bertie and I
+will both want to leave at the same time."
+
+"But I should think it's on the cards," said Chetwode, rather coldly.
+
+"No use bothering you to come?"
+
+"None at all. Who does the hostess at Jasmyn's parties?"
+
+"Oh, Bertie's mother, Lady Nora Wilton, you know."
+
+"I see."
+
+"Did you think," said Felicity, laughing, "that it would be Agatha, Mrs.
+Wilkinson?"
+
+"Oh--you mean the woman who's so fond of horses. Why, is she a friend of
+Vere's?"
+
+"Some people say so, of course I don't know."
+
+"I always see her," said Chetwode, "at races, with Bobby Henderson."
+
+"Oh yes," said Felicity, "but that's only intellectual sympathy! I can't
+see the point of Bobby Henderson, can you? Vera likes him so much too."
+
+"There _is_ no point about him. He's just the usual sporting, stupid
+guardsman."
+
+Felicity lit her husband's cigarette and left him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Her dress this afternoon had been very carefully thought out to contrast
+with Vera's.
+
+Vera was dressed in dull flame colour, becoming to her white skin and
+black hair. Felicity was in black and white. She wore a white hat, with
+a black velvet bow, and one enormous gardenia. It was impossible not to
+be pleased at Bertie's suppressed enthusiasm when she arrived. He was so
+fastidious about clothes, and she knew she was a real success to-day.
+
+"Oh, Felicity, isn't it too _horrible_? The chief person can't come!"
+Vera was fluttering a telegram and evidently trying not to cry. "The
+_great_ tenor, you know." She turned to Wilton. "Isn't it cruel at the
+last minute?"
+
+"Oh, don't worry, darling. Most likely no one will notice it--you see
+you kept it dark as a surprise, luckily," said Felicity.
+
+"And it _is_ a surprise--to me!" said Vera.
+
+"Oh, isn't the little harpy infant phenomenon coming?" asked Felicity.
+
+"Oh yes, _that's_ all right; he's here now, playing draughts with his
+mother in my room to prevent him getting nervous; and eating bread and
+jam. Thank goodness for that!"
+
+"Oh, what sort of jam?" asked Wilton eagerly. "Pray don't keep it from
+me! Raspberry, greengage--_please_ tell me, Mrs. Ogilvie!"
+
+"Why, what _can_ it matter?"
+
+"It matters enormously."
+
+"One would think you were a reporter," said Felicity.
+
+"I'm not. I'm only a psychologist."
+
+"Same thing," said Felicity.
+
+"Well, anyhow, it's marmalade--so there!" said Vera.
+
+"Oh, how delightful," exclaimed Wilton; "to match his hair, of course.
+Of course it's his mother's idea though. What a good mother she must
+be!"
+
+"Oh, here he is, at last. Where are his wings?"
+
+The boy, with his white suit and golden hair and small harp, looked,
+literally, angelic. There was a murmur of admiration.
+
+"There oughtn't to be a dry eye in the room when he plays Schumann,"
+said Felicity; "and fancy, Savile wouldn't come because he said he would
+long to kick him, and he was afraid Vera wouldn't like it."
+
+"I rather agree with Vera there," said Bertie.
+
+"No one would like, at one's musical party, to have one's artists
+kicked!"
+
+"Everything is all right," said Felicity, as she smiled and bowed to
+some one.
+
+"Why is everything all right? You gave one of your _special_ smiles just
+now! Who was it?"
+
+"De Valdez. It's rather jolly of him to have come here to-day. He was
+expected at the Spanish Embassy."
+
+"Probably going on afterwards."
+
+"Possibly not," said Felicity.
+
+"I admit I admire De Valdez very much," said Wilton. "Caring for nothing
+on earth but music and philosophy, and the kindest-hearted man in the
+world, he has been literally hounded into society by admiring women, and
+all the fuss about him hasn't spoilt him a bit; he would keep a royal
+party waiting for luncheon while he ran down to Bedford Park to spend
+the day with an old friend."
+
+"The point is," said Felicity calmly, "that he's a genius."
+
+"Oh, is he? I don't know much about music," said Wilton rather
+jealously.
+
+"I know you don't."
+
+"The point is, that he's remarkably handsome," said Bertie.
+
+"Now you're being disagreeable. Of course he's handsome, but that's
+_not_ the point."
+
+At this moment De Valdez joined them. Felicity took his arm and went
+down to tea.
+
+The boy harpist created wildest enthusiasm; a little later De Valdez
+sang (after which nearly every husband present suggested it was time to
+go), and, on the whole, the afternoon was as great a success as these
+things ever are.
+
+Quite late Bob Henderson arrived, full of tips--straight from the
+stable. Vera did not try to detain her lingering guests. Mr. Ogilvie
+never appeared on these occasions, but came home to dinner at eight,
+cross-questioned Vera, and did not listen to her answers in his usual
+amiable manner.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jasmyn Vere was extremely anxious, as he always was, to have something a
+little out of the way for his party. He literally lived for society,
+and, in a minor degree, for Agatha. As he was a bachelor, and had
+devoted even more time and energy to knowing none of the wrong people
+than to knowing all the right ones, a party of his was looked upon as
+not a thing to miss, particularly as a decorous originality was always
+to be expected.
+
+Lady Nora Wilton, a beauty of the early '80's, was a graceful and still
+pretty woman of forty-five; it was probably from her that Bertie had
+inherited his good looks and high spirits.
+
+"What _can_ we do just a little original?" Jasmyn had asked her.
+
+"What sort of thing? You don't mean to be American and let all the
+people come dressed as children, or ask some wild animals to look in in
+the evening?"
+
+Jasmyn threw up his hands in horror.
+
+"My dear Lady Nora, don't make fun of me! No, some rather intelligent
+people are coming."
+
+"Really? I thought your parties were always very smart!"
+
+"There'll be some people who can talk, don't you know."
+
+"What about?" said Lady Nora.
+
+"Ah! that's the point! Now, I propose that when supper's on there shall
+be a special supper served at one table for ten in my little octagon
+room, and _with_ the menu a subject for conversation with each item! It
+will, of course, not bore people, because, from the programme, they will
+see there is an ordinary supper-room too, and they can choose!"
+
+"It will be a general conversation, remember; and people aren't very
+keen on that," said Lady Nora.
+
+"Well, we shall see. So long as you don't disapprove (and one other lady
+to whom I shall speak of it). I think it's not a bad idea. I shall not
+have good music, Lady Nora. It isn't a concert--it's a conversazione."
+
+"But you won't have _bad_ music? I can't imagine anything bad in your
+house," said Lady Nora.
+
+"No, but music that encourages talk. De Valdez once sang at my
+house--_Everybody_ was there, and they _all_ talked! He got up and said,
+in the middle of Although, that lovely song, 'Here are five hundred
+people who want to talk, and only one who wants to sing. The odds are
+not fair. I give in.' And nothing would induce him to go on. But as he
+remained and was most agreeable to every one, one could hardly call it
+the caprice of a spoilt artist. Indeed, I think he was quite right."
+
+Lady Nora sighed. "But how uncomfortable! Well, then, you'd better have
+the Blue Hungarians and the Red ones too. Those who don't like the one
+can listen to the other."
+
+He laughed and said, "Bertie's the image of his mother. I shall have a
+first-rate band and second-rate music."
+
+"Agatha, Mrs. Wilkinson," was delighted at all the plans but said she
+simply _must_ go to supper with Bobby Henderson, as it would be too
+marked to be escorted by the host.
+
+As a matter of fact, nothing Agatha did was ever noticed, because she
+never did anything that was not extraordinary.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Do I look all right, Chetwode?"
+
+"Quite unnecessarily so," said Chetwode, and he gave her a look, which
+she recognised as the greatest compliment she ever received.
+
+Her eyes brightened and she blushed.
+
+"And who," said Chetwode, "may I ask, put it into your head to wear an
+entirely gold dress with your golden hair?"
+
+She hesitated half a second.
+
+"Oh! not the dressmaker? and it wasn't your own idea? I can only think
+of one other person. Do congratulate Wilton from me on his success as a
+designer."
+
+"Chetwode! if I did ask him to design it, it was so that you should be
+pleased with the dress."
+
+He smiled. "Quite so. And I am."
+
+"Oh, won't you come and fetch me?"
+
+"It's quite impossible. How late shall you stay?"
+
+"I'll come back just when you like."
+
+"Oh, enjoy yourself, dear. I'm going to stop at home."
+
+He seemed to have regained the equanimity that for a moment he seemed to
+have lost.
+
+Driving along, Felicity thought, "Perhaps if Chetwode _could_ be a shade
+jealous of Bertie, it might be a good thing. Still, that sort of thing
+is so commonplace. _We_ oughtn't to have to descend to it."
+
+Surely Chetwode, who never went by the opinion of others, who absolutely
+judged for himself, and for whom general success by no means raised the
+value of his choice, could not care a shade more for his wife because
+she was admired by Wilton, and would care less for her if he did not
+think her incapable of admiring any one but himself.
+
+"Are any of those eternal vulgar theories about love really ever true?"
+thought Felicity. Then wasn't Chetwode superior? Of course he was. That
+was why she loved him, and in wishing him to be an ordinary jealous
+man, she was wishing him to descend. However, when "Faute des roses"
+greeted her (exquisitely played by the Hungarians), and she was sitting
+in a bower of roses in her gold dress, with her respectfully worshipping
+and delightfully amusing Bertie, Felicity forgot her anxiety and
+thoroughly enjoyed herself. She was made much of, and admired; the
+homage was intoxicating, she was young, and she imprudently gave every
+one present the impression that she was flirting desperately with Bertie
+Wilton.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE VELVET CASE
+
+
+Savile, remembering that Chetwode had told him he was going away for 'a
+week end for ten days', and that Felicity had said he was going away for
+three days, went to see his sister. He had not received the promised
+wire from Chetwode, but instead a cordial invitation to lunch at the
+Savoy, in the course of which he told Savile that the whole thing had
+been laid before Teignmouth; that Teignmouth was slow but sure; that he
+was frightfully keen on arranging it, but said it can't be done in three
+days. Savile forbore to press the matter, and said that he, of course,
+disliked going back to school under the present circumstances; but if he
+could rely on Chetwode and Teignmouth he would only worry _two_ more
+people. The spirit of emulation that Savile hoped to rouse in his
+brother-in-law was not observable. But Savile knew him to be a man of
+his word, and really felt certain of Teignmouth's influence--he had
+Aunt William and Jasmyn Vere up his sleeve. Aunt William was very rich
+and very interested in politics, being an ardent member of the Primrose
+League; Jasmyn Vere was so frightfully good-natured, and so anxious to
+set people at their ease, that if Savile appeared with a shy request (he
+smiled to himself as he thought of _his_ being shy of old Jasmyn!) he
+would probably grant the request if he could. In fact, having seen in
+the _World_ a paragraph speaking of Jasmyn as "one of the leaders of
+society, the brilliancy of whose entertainments was only equalled by
+their delightful originality" had decided Savile on the question.
+
+"A chap," he said to himself, "who has a room arranged on purpose for
+bright conversation at supper, with the subjects on the menu, and spends
+thousands on orchids and gardenias for his parties, and admires Mrs.
+Wilkinson, and _yet_ is at large, must have some peculiar power! I
+should have thought he'd got nothing in him; but he's got such a
+tremendous lot _on_ him and around him, I suppose it does instead."
+
+Thus Savile, lost in these thoughts, rang rather judicially at the house
+in Park Street that no ordinary house-agent could speak of without
+emotion as a noble mansion; others, more genuinely enthusiastic still,
+called it, with self-restraint, a commodious residence.
+
+In the little blue-striped room that opened out of her bedroom he found
+Felicity in tears and a tea-gown. He remembered that day he had found
+Sylvia crying, and congratulated himself; first, that he was not a girl,
+secondly, that he and not another man had seen them thus grieving.
+
+Felicity looked up and said, "Oh, Savile, you're just the person I
+want--an appalling thing has happened."
+
+Savile sat down, lit a cigarette, and offered one to her, which she
+accepted.
+
+Her manner was rather like that of a young man who, though he dislikes
+it, has decided to confide in a friend.
+
+"Look here," she said, "I've had a wire from Chetwode to say he's going
+to stay on at the Tregellys till next week."
+
+"Well, what of that? _That_ can't be all, surely?"
+
+"You're right, it's not. I was looking in one of his innumerable carved
+chests for some novels, when I found a locked velvet case." She stopped
+a minute. He was silent.
+
+"I found a key that fitted it," she went on.
+
+"Did you, though?" said Savile.
+
+"In it I found a lovely porcelain picture of a woman. Blanche Tregelly
+was written on the back. Where he's staying, you know. I've never seen
+her. I vaguely knew Tregelly was more or less married: he was at Oxford
+with Chetwode; but as they live so far away I've never got to know
+them."
+
+"Don't see your point," said Savile.
+
+"_Why_ has he got that picture, _and_ is staying on?"
+
+"Tregelly," said Savile, "probably gave it to Chetwode to get something
+done to it--get it framed or something."
+
+"Chetwode's not a framemaker! Why is he staying on?"
+
+"Because he's having a good time."
+
+"You're shirking the whole thing. The point is that when he stays away
+so long, it isn't only racing."
+
+"Of course not. At the Tregellys, it's bridge."
+
+"Yes--and Mrs. Tregelly."
+
+Angry tears again filled her eyes, but she brushed them away.
+
+"You know Chetwode _does_ admire beauty," she said.
+
+Savile looked at the picture. "But only the very _most_ beautiful. I've
+never yet seen him admire anything second-rate. Have you?"
+
+She beamed and said, "Savile, _is_ she second-rate?"
+
+"Perhaps not, on porcelain."
+
+"Savile, you _know_ that if Chetwode likes her, she's not only pretty,
+but very charming. In fact, I'm certain Blanche is perfectly delightful!
+Pretending to oneself that one's rival is hideous and vulgar is a bit
+_too_ cheap. It doesn't console me."
+
+"You're worse than an ordinary woman, Felicity," said Savile, with a
+laugh. "What do you propose to do? Go and consult George Lewis?"
+
+"You're worse than an ordinary boy. I'm consulting you."
+
+"No, you're not. You're asking my opinion. Chetwode is very----" He
+paused. "I've never seen him look at any other woman."
+
+"Let's face facts, dear," said Felicity. "It's not what we've seen, of
+course."
+
+"What have you decided to do?" said Savile. "To write and tell him
+you've found the photograph?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I thought you wanted him to come home."
+
+"Don't you?"
+
+"Yes, rather!" said Savile. "And I don't think he _would_ come home if
+he thought there was going to be a row of any kind. Lots of people love
+rows. He doesn't."
+
+She looked rather at a loss, and then said, "Well, _what_ would you do
+if you were in my place?"
+
+He waited a minute and then said: "Don't you always write to him, when
+he's away, as if you were enjoying yourself?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Doesn't he ever think that there's a good deal of Wilton one--way or
+another?"
+
+"I think he has," she said, brightening up a little.
+
+"Well, for heaven's sake don't try that with Chetwode! The more he was
+riled, the more he'd say to himself, 'Of course she's enjoying herself.
+There's no harm in it. No hurry to go back.'"
+
+"Chetwode," said Felicity, "is one of those very English men who would
+never own they're jealous unless things came to extremities, which, of
+course, naturally, they never would."
+
+"Look here, you're making a fool of yourself," said Savile. "You're
+making yourself miserable over nothing at all." He stood up. "Don't do
+_anything_ till after lunch, perhaps not till this evening. You've just
+had a bit of a shock. You'll find you're wrong. Telephone when you want
+me."
+
+He kissed her and went away.
+
+Felicity closed the velvet case. She then dressed very beautifully to go
+out, but when it came to putting on her hat she couldn't. It requires
+fairly good spirits to put on a modern hat and veil. She thought she
+would go downstairs and think. Then she saw Bertie's green motor at the
+door. She hesitated a moment about letting him come in; then she thought
+that she would tell him about it, and according to how he behaved, would
+test him once for all. If he didn't do exactly the right thing, she
+would never see him again.
+
+As Wilton came in, all the fluent conversation and compliments, the
+gossip and jokes he had been saving up to tell her, died away on his
+lips. He saw she had been crying. He sat down further away than usual,
+and said--
+
+"Don't tell me if you'd rather not. I'll go away, shall I? I'm quite
+sure you're not in the mood for me."
+
+She said, "No, don't go."
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"What was the party like last night at the Harpers?" she then asked.
+
+"I haven't the slightest idea," he answered.
+
+"But you must have been there? I didn't tell you I'd changed my mind
+about going. I meant to, and then at the last minute something rather
+dreadful happened, and I stayed at home."
+
+"Yes, I'm almost sure I was there," said Wilton thoughtfully. "I think I
+must have gone if I expected to see you. But I don't remember anything
+about it. I must look in the _Morning Post_ and see if I'm in the list
+of guests. I'm afraid you think I'm not the sort of friend to tell
+anything serious to, but really, Lady Chetwode, you're wrong there. If
+there was anything on earth that I could do----"
+
+"It's something so annoying, so horrid," she said. Her voice was
+trembling.
+
+"Tell me."
+
+He looked so genuinely unhappy for her sake that, not being of the
+disposition that conceals its sorrows from the sympathetic, Felicity of
+course told him all about it.
+
+He waited a minute, pale with interest, and then said--
+
+"I appreciate your telling me this. But, of course, the whole trouble is
+entirely imaginary. Oh, I know that doesn't make it any better for the
+moment; but it's more evanescent."
+
+"Imaginary? Why do you think that?"
+
+"Well, the one thing that I pride myself on just the _least_ little bit
+is an instinct--an instinct for temperament. I would undertake to swear
+that Chetwode is one of those exceptional people who only love one woman
+in their lives. He would never think of looking at any one except you.
+Of course, I know there are many men who don't really appreciate the
+most perfect woman if she happens to belong to them. But Chetwode isn't
+like that. He hasn't a fickle nature; he doesn't seek for variety and
+novelty. What you suppose is impossible to him. Not only now, but it
+always will be."
+
+"You may be quite right about his temperament, Bertie. I dare say you
+are. But how do you account for the picture?"
+
+"I don't. But there is an explanation. I don't pretend to be one of
+those wonderful thought-readers who, in some public calamity, see in the
+crystal everything they've read in the papers. You'll soon find out
+about it. It's some mistake."
+
+She held out the picture to him.
+
+"But she's very pretty, Bertie."
+
+Wilton examined the picture.
+
+"A very dull, harmless, insipid style of prettiness," he said
+consolingly. "The kind of face that once seen is never remembered, as
+has been so well said of the characteristic British face. This woman is
+devoted to her husband; goes to church every Sunday, takes great
+interest in parish work, adores her children----"
+
+"How many has she?"
+
+He looked at the picture again.
+
+"From her expression, I should say two--two boys; and I'm quite sure
+she's very much more interested in their reports and their colds, their
+sins and their talents, than in--for instance--Chetwode, or in anything
+of the kind you seem to suggest."
+
+"She never comes to London," said Felicity. "They live nearly all the
+year round at their country place."
+
+"Of course she doesn't come to London. Why should she? She has a
+domestic face. Her home is her world. If she ever does come to town, she
+wears a short serge skirt and a blouse with tight sleeves--because she
+doesn't know they're coming in again--and takes one of the boys to the
+dentist."
+
+"And you can see all that in the porcelain picture?" said Felicity,
+laughing.
+
+"More. Far more. And all in your favour."
+
+"But I think you're rather prejudiced, Bertie. You're such a convinced
+Londoner yourself that you think every one who lives in the country must
+be a paragon of virtue, just as people who live in the country suppose
+their London friends to be given up to wickedness and frivolity. Lots of
+people have a very good time in the country."
+
+"No one knows that better than I do. I assure you I'm not a bit
+prejudiced. I quite believe and realise that people can have a good time
+anywhere. Why, even in provincial towns--what was that case at Bradford,
+that astonished everybody so much? However, my point is, that Mrs.
+Tregelly doesn't."
+
+"Why? I think she looks very happy," said Felicity.
+
+"Yes. Exactly. Happy, but perfectly calm. A woman placed as she is could
+not possibly look as calm as that if she had a secret purple romance
+with Chetwode, or with any other man. It just shows--if I may say
+so--how blind Love is. If this had happened to anybody else, you would
+be the first to see, on the face of it, that anything like a flirtation
+between the Lady of the Velvet Case and your husband is one of those
+hopeless impossibilities that only the wildly imaginative and charming
+people who have no relation to real life, like yourself, could possibly
+conceive."
+
+Felicity seemed comforted.
+
+"You think it utterly impossible?"
+
+"Oh, I go further than that. I think it highly improbable. Can you see,"
+continued Wilton, "this gentle, harmless creature, a woman capable of
+having her portrait painted on porcelain, from a photograph, and framed
+in crimson velvet, who never in her life had a secret except when she
+concealed from her husband her real reason for sending the housemaid
+away in order to give the girl another chance by giving her a good
+character--can you see _her_, I say, privately slipping this enormous
+case into Chetwode's small and reluctant white hand just as she was
+going to church, and saying, 'Keep it for my sake'?"
+
+"You make the whole thing so ridiculous, Bertie, I begin to think you're
+right, but still it's very extraordinary that he did have it."
+
+"Our not knowing the reason is not nearly so extraordinary as your
+explanation."
+
+"But I can't wait for the real explanation. Suspense is torture," she
+said.
+
+"But delightful--or there'd be no gambling in the world. Still, if you
+dislike it, why not telegraph?" Wilton suggested.
+
+"Because, you see, if there's nothing in it, I should appear so utterly
+absurd. And if there was, _is_ it likely that Chetwode would wire and
+say so?"
+
+"Scarcely. You have sparks of real genius, Lady Chetwode, I must say! I
+never thought of that! The best way would be to make him come back as
+quickly as possible. Of course, he'd return if you were ill?"
+
+"Rather. Besides, I am. Very."
+
+"So you are. Then write to that effect."
+
+"I think I will, but not yet." She remembered Savile's advice to wait
+till after dinner.
+
+"May I ask," inquired Wilton, "if you're delaying in order to confide in
+women? This, I know, seems very impertinent of me, but I can't help
+advising you not. You'd be so sorry afterwards! When you go and tell
+Vera that it is all right after all, however pleased she is, there'll
+always be an uncomfortable feeling on your side that perhaps she doesn't
+quite believe you--that she thinks you're making the best of it. And
+Miss Sylvia will be so gloriously indignant and jealous for you that she
+won't do you any good."
+
+"I know, Bertie. You are absolutely right. But I never do confide in
+women--only in men whom I can trust. Like you--and Savile."
+
+"Thank you. And how right you are! Then if you're going to delay any
+action in the matter and put the picture aside, what are you going to do
+to-day?"
+
+"I half promised Vera to meet her marvellous new palmist, Madame Zero,
+at her house this afternoon."
+
+She took Vera's note out of a long grey envelope sealed with an Egyptian
+seal.
+
+"It seems she's _too_ wonderful. Only one or two people are going."
+
+"Mrs. Ogilvie kindly asked me," said Bertie modestly. "Of course you'll
+go and hear what the soothsayer has to say about the velvet case?"
+
+"Perhaps, but I'm not sure.... I feel restless.... I must say, it does
+seem unlikely there could be much harm in a woman who has her portrait
+painted in porcelain from a photograph--by the young lady at the
+photographer's, I dare say, who makes the appointments and touches up
+the negatives. And yet--perhaps that very innocence--that sweet, blank
+expression--even the tight sleeves and the two boys may make her all the
+more attractive!"
+
+Wilton got up.
+
+"Good-bye," he said. "You're perverse. It's no use, I see, telling you
+not to worry; but please try to realise there's no occasion."
+
+"Wouldn't you say just the same if you thought there had been occasion?"
+she persisted.
+
+"Absolutely. But that doesn't prove I'm not sincere now."
+
+He pressed her hand with a look that he hoped conveyed the highest
+respect, the tenderest sympathy, a deep, though carefully suppressed
+passion, and a longing to administer some refined and courteous
+consolation, and went away.
+
+Wilton was only twenty-five, so, naturally, as soon as he got home, he
+tried the expression in the mirror, and was horribly disappointed in it.
+
+"I must have looked as if I'd suddenly got an awful twinge of
+neuralgia," he said to himself.
+
+"It shows how careful one ought to be. Confound it!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Felicity, however, was not troubling herself about Wilton or his
+expressive looks. The complicated glance, which he feared was a failure,
+had not even been seen by her. What he had said cheered her for the
+moment, and _au fond_, at the back of her brain, with her real sound
+common sense, she did not actually believe in the cause of her grief.
+But passion and jealousy, unfortunately, are not governed by sound
+common sense; they work in circles. Argument and reasoning have but a
+temporary effect on them; they come back to the point at which they
+started.
+
+As she looked at Mrs. Tregelly's picture, the feverish chills of
+suspicion again took possession of her. She told herself repeatedly that
+she had only been married a year, that Chetwode was in love with her,
+and had always seemed cold to other women. But he was continually away.
+He was charming and attractive. Perhaps the other women he met thought
+_she_ lived for amusement and was utterly neglectful of him. She was
+afraid she had been imprudent in being seen so much with Wilton, but
+Chetwode never seemed, really, to mind. He trusted her as she deserved,
+and as she ought to trust him. Considering the terms that they were
+on--far more like lovers than husband and wife--it would be real
+treachery on his part. He was incapable of treachery. She would trust
+him.
+
+Then the image of Chetwode making love to that pretty woman abruptly
+forced itself on her mental vision in spite of all reasoning, like a
+sudden violent physical pain, and she burst into tears.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She controlled them as soon as possible, for she strongly dissented from
+the old-fashioned idea that a good cry was consoling. On the contrary,
+she thought that the headache and unbecoming traces of emotion that
+followed tears had a particularly depressing effect, and left one with
+nerves. She resolved to dismiss the subject for the moment, anyhow, and
+to go to Vera's in the afternoon to meet Madame Zero and two or three of
+Vera's most favoured and intimate friends.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+ZERO, THE SOOTHSAYER
+
+
+Mrs. Ogilvie looked more Egyptian than ever to-day. She always dressed
+for her parts; and as a believer in the Unseen, she felt it right, in
+honour of the sibyl, to wear her hair very low, with some green pins in
+it, long earrings, and a flowing gown, with Japanese sleeves.
+
+"Vera, you're almost in fancy dress," said Felicity, as she arrived.
+"It's very becoming; but why?"
+
+"Am I, dear? Well, it's as a sort of compliment to this wonderful girl.
+I've been draping the little boudoir with gold embroideries--and burning
+joss-sticks, too (though they give me a headache). I thought it would
+bring out her gift--make her feel more at home, you know."
+
+"Good gracious, is she an Algerian or an Indian or anything?"
+
+"Oh dear no, darling. Of course not. She's a Highlander, that's all. It
+runs in her family. To know things that haven't happened, I mean."
+
+"But that _will_ happen?"
+
+"I hope so, I'm sure. She's in there," said Vera, pointing to a beaded
+curtain, that concealed the small drawing-room. "She's gazing into the
+crystal for Bob Henderson. You shall go next, darling."
+
+"I should have imagined Captain Henderson the very last person in the
+world to dabble in the occult, as they call it in the newspapers. I
+should have thought he would laugh at superstition."
+
+"Oh, so he does, dear, but he wants to know what's going to win the
+Derby."
+
+"From all I've heard about racing," said Felicity, "if he wants to know
+that, he'd better wait till it's run."
+
+"Oh, Felicity, don't cast a sort of damper on the thing before him!
+Perhaps he'll be converted. He may take it quite seriously now. It would
+do him good, he's so matter-of-fact."
+
+At this moment a very loud and hearty laugh was heard, and Captain
+Henderson appeared through the beaded curtain and joined them.
+
+"What a long time you've been," said Vera.
+
+"She's a pretty girl," said Captain Henderson.
+
+"Any success?" asked Felicity.
+
+"She saw some horses in the crystal. But as she didn't know their names,
+it was no earthly use to me. Says I'll back the winner for a place,
+though. She's got second-rate sight--second sight, I mean."
+
+"A great many of these old Highland families have," said Felicity
+seriously, to please Vera.
+
+"Have they, though? She says she's half Irish," said Henderson, with his
+characteristic puzzled look. "She's been telling my character
+too--reading between the lines, you know, the lines on my hand. She
+doesn't seem to think much of me, Mrs. Ogilvie." He laughed again.
+
+"As soon as she's had some tea," said Vera, ringing, "you must go in,
+Felicity. We mustn't tire her. It's frightfully exhausting work."
+
+"Must be," assented Bob.
+
+"It takes it out of her ever so much more with some people than with
+others," said Vera.
+
+"Ah, it would," said Bob solemnly, shaking his head.
+
+"I suppose complicated people are more wearing than the simpler kind,"
+said Felicity. "There's more in them to find out."
+
+"You mean it must have been pretty plain sailing with me?" said
+Henderson.
+
+Here Wilton arrived.
+
+"There's something about the tone of your delightful home to-day," he
+said as he greeted Vera, "that makes me feel curiously Oriental. I don't
+exactly know what it is, but I feel I want to sit down cross-legged on
+a mat and smoke a hookah. How do you account for it?"
+
+"You 'hear the East a-calling,' and all that sort of thing," said
+Henderson, laughing. "Eh?"
+
+"Yes. But perhaps after all it's only the east wind. No, it's the
+incense some one's been burning. At your shrine, of course, Mrs.
+Ogilvie. What a talent you have for creating the right atmosphere."
+
+Vera was highly flattered.
+
+"And now I think you might go in, Felicity," she said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Felicity found a young girl with bright pleasant eyes, seated in front
+of a little yellow table. She had a magnifying-glass on one side of her
+and a crystal ball on the other. She was very neatly dressed in the
+tailor-made style, and had no superfluous decorations of any kind.
+Anything less like a sibyl could not be easily imagined.
+
+Felicity took off her glove and placed her hand on a yellow cushion. As
+she did so, she remembered charming things that Chetwode had said about
+her hands, how he had compared them to white flowers; and she sighed....
+
+"You're vurry sensitive indeed," said the palmist, with a slight
+American accent. "Your nerves seem to me to be vibrating."
+
+"But isn't that usual?" said Felicity shyly. "I thought nerves always
+did."
+
+"Just hold the crystal in your hand for a minute or two. Thank you. Ah!
+there's a slight cloud on your horizon at this moment, but it will pass
+away--I see it passing away."
+
+"What else do you see?"
+
+"I see you in a large space surrounded by a hurrying crowd. There are
+bookstalls, trucks of luggage, trains, I can't say precisely what it
+is."
+
+"Surely a railway station?" said Felicity.
+
+"You are perfectly right. I should fancy from this that you are either
+going to take a journey by rail, or that you are going to see a friend
+off."
+
+"Do you advise me to take the journey?"
+
+"I fear advice one way or the other would have vurry little effect. I am
+a believer in Fate. Either you're going to take that journey, or you're
+not, in spite of anything I may suggest to the contrary."
+
+And the palmist smiled archly, then leant back and closed her eyes.
+Felicity wondered if she were tired with the noise of the railway
+station. But she opened them suddenly, and took Felicity's hand, which
+she looked at through the magnifying-glass.
+
+"This is a most interesting hand. Mrs. Ogilvie's gentleman friend, who
+was in here just now, also had a vurry interesting hand. She's a lovely
+woman, and her hand is most interesting too...."
+
+She paused.
+
+"You have a curious temperament. You are easily impressed by the
+personality of other people. You are impulsive and emotional, and yet
+you have a remarkable amount of calm judgment, so that you can analyse,
+and watch your own feelings and those of the other persons as well as if
+it were a matter of indifference to you. Your strong affections never
+blind you to the faults and weaknesses of their object, and those faults
+do not make you care for them less, but in some cases attach you even
+more strongly. You are fond of gaiety; your moods vary easily, because
+you vibrate to music, bright surroundings, and sympathy. But you have
+depth, and in an emergency I should say you could be capable even of
+heroism. You have an astonishing amount of intuition."
+
+"What a horrid little creature!" said Felicity.
+
+"Your tact and knowledge of how to deal with people are so natural to
+you that you are scarcely conscious of them. You should have been the
+wife of a great diplomatist."
+
+"But aren't they always very ugly?" asked Felicity.
+
+"You're not as trivial as you wish to appear," replied the palmist;
+"you are very frank and straightforward, but reserved on subjects that
+are nearest your heart.... Is there any question you would like to ask
+me?"
+
+"I should like to know," said Felicity, giving herself away as the most
+sceptical victim always does, "whether the person I care for is true to
+me."
+
+As she said the words she thought they sounded as if she were a
+sentimental shop-girl whose young man had shown signs of ceasing his
+attentions. And why not? She felt exactly like that shop-girl. It was
+precisely the same thing.
+
+The palmist smiled sympathetically, and said, "He has no other thought
+but you. Believe me, you are his one object, and he will be true to you
+through life."
+
+"And how on earth can you see that?" said Felicity, unreasonably
+cheered, though inclined to laugh.
+
+"I can't say. It's not possible to explain these things; but here, you
+see, your Fate line is a wonderfully good one, and it goes parallel (if
+I may say so) with the heart line. Now, if the _Life_ line had crossed
+it, or reached the Mount of Luna--well, I should have said you were
+destined to disappointment in love. But that is not so. You have a lucky
+hand. You have artistic tastes, but would never work in any direction,
+except the social--that is why I say a diplomatic circle would have
+suited you."
+
+Felicity feared the soothsayer was getting rather bored with her, so she
+said--
+
+"Thank you. Have you any advice to give me before I go?"
+
+"Yes. It would be to your advantage if you used your head less and
+followed your natural impulses more."
+
+"Then I must throw something at Chetwode's head when I see him," thought
+Felicity.
+
+As she got up, "I see two beautiful children in your hand," added the
+palmist.
+
+"Oh, when?" said Felicity, starting, and accidentally knocking down the
+crystal ball.
+
+"Within the next few years," answered the palmist cautiously.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Now it's my turn," said Bertie, as Felicity joined them. "Do tell me,"
+he said in an undertone, "was there anything about me in your hand?"
+
+"Rather not--not a trace of you. Why, what did you expect?"
+
+"Oh, then I don't think much of her. I thought at least she would see my
+initials all over your lifeline. I assure you, any good palmist would.
+I'm afraid she's a fraud."
+
+"I trust not. She was rather consoling," said Felicity thoughtfully.
+
+"She was wonderful with me," said Vera, as Bertie disappeared. "I wonder
+what her nationality really is."
+
+"Thought you said she was a Highlander." Bob looked more puzzled than
+ever.
+
+"Well, so she is, partly. In a way. Unless I'm mixing her up with some
+one else."
+
+"And yet Zero isn't a Scotch name," remarked Felicity thoughtfully.
+
+"No; and it's a rotten name too--doesn't suit her a bit. But it's not
+her real name. On her card is Miss Cora G. Donovan," said Bob.
+
+"How do you know?" asked Vera sharply.
+
+"Well, I had to ask her address. I've got to see her again, don't you
+know. Before the Derby. To make sure. Only fair to give it a chance,"
+said Bob, rather apologetically.
+
+"She's an Irish American," decided Felicity.
+
+"Is she? I dare say she is. I wonder what she'll say to Wilton now,"
+said Bob meditatively.
+
+"Bertie will tell her everything he knows about himself, and about every
+one else in whom either he or she takes the slightest interest. Then
+he'll go on to tell her character, and prophesy her future, and she'll
+confide in him, and he'll give her good advice. He always tells
+fortune-tellers their fortune. That's why he's so popular in the occult
+world," said Felicity.
+
+"Wonder they stand it," said Bob.
+
+"Why, naturally, they enjoy it. Mustn't they get frightfully bored, poor
+things, with talking all the time about other people, and be only too
+thankful and delighted to be allowed to talk about themselves a little?
+Fancy how refreshing it must be; what a relief! Think of the tedium of
+always bothering about perfect strangers--pretending to care about their
+luck and their love affairs, their fortunes and their failures, and all
+their silly little private affairs. It must be absolutely fascinating
+for them to meet a person so interested in other people as Bertie."
+
+"Perhaps he only does it out of kindness," said Vera. "I shouldn't
+wonder. Asks them questions and shows interest just to please them."
+
+"Well, I call it infernal cheek," said Bob resentfully.
+
+"Not at all. Some people aren't always absorbed in themselves," said
+Vera, with a reproachful look as she gave Bob a cup of tea.
+
+At this moment Sylvia was announced. She looked very happy and excited.
+
+"I hope I'm not too late. I only want to ask Madame Zero _one_
+question. I shan't be a moment."
+
+"Of course you shall, dear, and I know you won't keep her long, as
+she'll be very tired now after seeing us all. Now, Sylvia"--Vera turned
+to Felicity--"is unusual. She's neither curious about other people nor
+intensely interested in herself."
+
+"I don't mind how interested people are in themselves, so long as
+they're interesting people," said Felicity.
+
+"Do you call it taking too much interest in oneself to want to back a
+winner just once--for a change? I had tips straight from the stable
+about three horses yesterday, at Haydock Park. And I give you my word,
+Lady Chetwode, they all went down."
+
+"Dead certainties never seem to do anything else," Felicity answered.
+
+"Mind you, it was partly my own fault," continued Bob. "If I'd had the
+sense to back Little Lady for the Warrington Handicap Hurdle Race--as
+any chap in his senses would have done after her out-jumping the
+favourite and securing a lead at the final obstacle in the Stayer
+Steeplechase, I should have got home on the day--or at any rate on the
+week. But then, you see, I'd seen her twice refuse at the water--and I
+was a bit too cautious, I suppose!"
+
+"You generally are," murmured Vera, but he did not hear, having sunk
+into a racing reverie.
+
+Bertie appeared through the curtains.
+
+"I congratulate you, Mrs. Ogilvie. Your soothsayer is a marvel."
+
+"Isn't she!" triumphantly said his hostess.
+
+"It's the most extraordinary thing I ever came across in my life. She
+simply took my breath away. Yes, tea, please. She's a genius."
+
+"Does she seem very exhausted? Or do you think Sylvia might just ask her
+one question?"
+
+"Oh, surely--Miss Sylvia's so reposeful," said Bertie. "I fancy I could
+answer the one question myself," he added in a low voice to Sylvia, as
+he held the curtains back for her to pass.
+
+"She's been a success with you, I see," said Felicity.
+
+"She has, indeed! She got right there every time--as she would say
+herself in her quaint Eastern phraseology. She has one of the most
+remarkable personalities I ever met. No one would believe what that girl
+has gone through in her life--and she's been so brave and plucky through
+it all! Did you notice what remarkable hands she has?"
+
+"I told you so," laughed Felicity. "She's been confiding in Bertie and
+he's told _her_ fortune! I knew it."
+
+Bertie coloured slightly as he ate a pink cake.
+
+"Shouldn't have thought that of her," grumbled Bob. "She seemed a
+sensible sort of girl."
+
+"My dear Henderson, don't be absurd. After her wonderful divination
+about me, of course I couldn't help asking her a few questions as to how
+she developed the gift--and so on--and she told me the most amazing
+things."
+
+"She would, I'm sure," said Vera sympathetically. "I wonder if she'll
+tell Sylvia anything about what Mr. Ridokanaki is doing."
+
+"Oh, I can tell you all about him," said Bertie readily. "He's having a
+very good time in Paris just now. I hear he's always about with the
+Beaugardes. Miss Beaugarde's a very pretty girl just out of her convent.
+Her mother's working it for all she's worth. Clever woman. I shouldn't
+be surprised if it came off, if Madame Beaugarde can make him believe
+the girl's in love with him for himself."
+
+"You see we really need no sibyls and soothsayers when we have Bertie,"
+said Felicity. "To know him really is a liberal education. He knows
+everything."
+
+"Sort of walking _Harmsworth's Self-educator_," said Bob rather
+bitterly, as he took his hat.
+
+Sylvia returned, evidently content. She told Felicity afterwards that
+Madame Zero had seen her in the crystal in a large building of a sacred
+character, dressed all in white and holding a bouquet. The sound of the
+chanting of sweet boys' voices was in the air. What could it possibly
+mean?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Whether or not Madame Zero had demonstrated her gifts so convincingly as
+to have converted a sceptic, there was no doubt that she had perceptibly
+raised the spirits of the whole party (not excluding her own), so the
+seance was quite deservedly pronounced an immense success.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+"THE OTHER GIRL"
+
+
+Savile had received a note from Dolly, asking him to go and see her in
+the square. Savile was feeling rather sore because Dolly and her French
+friends had gone to a fancy ball the night before, a kind of
+semi-juvenile party where all the children wore powdered hair. Dolly had
+offered to get him an invitation, but he scornfully refused, knowing she
+was going to dance the cotillon with Robert de Saules.
+
+So depressed had he seemed that evening that Sylvia had played "Home,
+Sweet Home" to him five or six times. It made him miserable, which he
+thoroughly enjoyed, and he was feeling altogether rather cynical and
+bitter when he got Dolly's little note. He had heard nothing more of
+Chetwode, and intended to see Jasmyn Vere before he left; there was only
+another week before the end of his holidays. Should he be cool to Dolly?
+or not let her know how he felt about the fancy ball?
+
+As soon as he arrived he thought she looked different. The powder had
+been imperfectly brushed out of her hair; also she had been crying. She
+greeted him very gently. She wore a pretty white dress and a pale blue
+sash.
+
+"I suppose you've been very happy these holidays?" said Dolly.
+
+"Oh, I don't know! I've had a great deal to--to see to," said Savile.
+
+"I suppose you see a great deal of The Other Girl?" said Dolly.
+
+Considering that he had only been once to Wales to hear his idol sing at
+a concert, there was a certain satisfaction in giving Dolly to
+understand that he hadn't really had half a bad time; so he smiled and
+didn't answer.
+
+"Is she grown up?" asked Dolly.
+
+Savile was cautiously reserved on the subject, but seemed to think he
+might go so far as to say she _was_ grown up.
+
+"Did you have fun last night?" he then asked.
+
+"No. I was simply miserable."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I kept the cotillon for Robert, though he hadn't exactly asked for it,
+and when the time came the girl of the house, who is eighteen, actually
+danced it with him!"
+
+"Hope you didn't show you cared."
+
+"No, I didn't; but I danced with a lot of stupid little boys, and I was
+so bored! Besides, I _hate_ Robert. Wasn't it mean of him? He went to
+supper with this grown-up girl, who was awfully amused at his foreign
+accent, and he behaved as if _I_ was just a child, a friend of his
+little sister Therese. Now, do you think, Savile, as a man of the world,
+that I ought ever to speak to him again?"
+
+"When's he going away?" asked Savile.
+
+"Next week; at the end of the holidays."
+
+"If you cut him dead as he deserves," said Savile, "it's treating him as
+if he mattered. Of course, you _really_ showed you were offended?"
+
+"Well--I suppose I did. You see, his head was quite turned by these old
+grown-up girls making a fuss about him."
+
+"What a rotter!" said Savile kindly. "Well, do you still like him?"
+
+"No; I simply hate him, I tell you," said Dolly.
+
+"Then don't bother about him any more."
+
+Savile forbore to say, "I told you so!" He was however naturally
+gratified.
+
+"What I should like," said Dolly candidly, "would be to be able to tell
+Therese--who would tell Robert--that I'm engaged to _you_!"
+
+"Well, tell her so, if you like."
+
+"Oh, what a brick you are! It's not very truthful though, is it?"
+
+Savile said that didn't matter with foreigners.
+
+"It is a pity," Dolly murmured, with a sigh, "that it can't _be_ true!"
+
+"Yes--isn't it?" said Savile.
+
+"After all," said Dolly, "you're not exactly _engaged_ to the other
+girl."
+
+"How do _you_ know?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure you're not."
+
+"As a matter of fact I'm not."
+
+"But you think she might marry you when you're grown up?"
+
+Savile smiled. "Before there'll be a chance of marrying her, I shall be
+dead of old age."
+
+"When shall you see her again?"
+
+"Next Wednesday, the day before I go away."
+
+Felicity had promised to take him to a concert where he might not only
+see her but possibly even be introduced to her in the artists' room,
+through the good nature of De Valdez, who had been told of Savile's
+romantic devotion.
+
+But Savile was now feeling rather tenderly towards Dolly, who had
+evidently learnt by experience to put her trust in Englishmen. In fact,
+at this moment he was thoroughly enjoying himself again.
+
+"I don't think after all I _shall_ say I'm engaged to you," said Dolly
+sadly. "There's something depressing about it when it isn't true."
+
+"Oh well, let's make it true."
+
+"Really; but what about The Other Girl?"
+
+"You don't quite understand. That's a different thing. There she
+is--but--that's all. It's nothing to do with being engaged to you."
+
+She looked bewildered.
+
+"But is she very fond of you?"
+
+"Not at all," said Savile.
+
+"Oh, she _must_ be," said Dolly admiringly.
+
+Savile blushed and said, "My dear girl, she doesn't know me from Adam!
+So there!"
+
+"Then why on earth did you break it off before?" said Dolly, clapping
+her hands and beaming.
+
+"Well, you see, I think a good deal of her," said Savile, "and then,
+what with one thing and another--you didn't seem to want me much."
+
+"But I do _now_!" said Dolly frankly.
+
+"Oh, all right. Well, look here, old girl, we'll be engaged, just as we
+were before; but--I must have my freedom."
+
+"Indeed you shan't," said Dolly, with flashing eyes. "I never heard such
+nonsense! What do you mean by your freedom? Then can't I have mine too?"
+
+"Rather not! What a baby you are, Dolly. Don't you know, there's one law
+for a man and another for a woman?"
+
+She gasped with rage.
+
+"I never heard such nonsense in my life. I shall certainly not allow
+anything of the kind. Either we're engaged or we're not."
+
+"Very well, my dear, keep calm about it. It doesn't matter. Here I
+offer," said Savile, "to please you, to be engaged again, and you don't
+like my terms. Then it's off."
+
+"I think you're more cruel than Robert," said Dolly.
+
+"But not such an ass," said Savile.
+
+"And not so treacherous," admitted Dolly, who seemed as if she did not
+want him to go.
+
+"Just tell me what you _mean_ by your freedom," she said pleadingly.
+
+"As I'm placed," said Savile mysteriously, "all I want is to see The
+Other Girl once, on Wednesday. I shall probably only have a few words
+with her. Then I believe they are going away, and I'm going back to
+school."
+
+"_They_ are going away," said Dolly, mystified. "Then is there more than
+one?"
+
+"More than one? Good God, no! One's enough!" said Savile, with a sigh.
+
+"After all," said Dolly very prettily, "I do trust you, Savile."
+
+Savile was intensely pleased, but he only answered gruffly, "That's as
+well to know!"
+
+"Then I'll try not to be jealous of her. I won't think about her at
+all."
+
+"No, I shouldn't," said Savile.
+
+"Then we are engaged," said Dolly again, "definitely?"
+
+"Of course we are. And look here, you've got to do what I tell you."
+
+"What am I to do?"
+
+"You're to be jolly, just as you used to be; you're to come and meet me
+here every day, and--I'm not quite sure we really saw Madame Tussaud's
+properly that day."
+
+"Well, you were so cross, Savile."
+
+"I shan't be cross now. I'll take you there, and we'll have tea. Could
+you go to-day?"
+
+"I think, just to-day," said Dolly, "I _might_ be allowed. A particular
+friend of mamma's is coming to-day whom she hasn't seen for ages. She
+told me not to come into the drawing-room."
+
+"All right. Run in now and fix it up."
+
+"Mamma," said Dolly, "will expect me to go to the De Saules; but as my
+holiday task is about Charles II, and we shall see him at the
+waxworks----"
+
+"I leave all that to you," said Savile.
+
+"Very well, then. Come and fetch me at three. I'm sure I can arrange it.
+Won't Robert be surprised!"
+
+"One more thing," said Savile rather sternly. "Remember that I don't
+care _two_ straws whether he's surprised or not, and I don't want his
+name mentioned again."
+
+"Then it's not to annoy him?"
+
+"No. It's to please me. Us."
+
+"Very well."
+
+She gave him her hand.
+
+"And you won't even--now that we're engaged properly--give up
+seeing--The Other Girl on Wednesday?" she pleaded.
+
+Savile frowned darkly.
+
+"You may be sure I shall do the right thing," he said rather grandly,
+"and you're not to refer to her again. I've told you I shall only see
+her once, and that's enough for you."
+
+"I think you are very tyrannical," said Dolly, pouting.
+
+"That won't do you any harm, my dear."
+
+"And--you don't seem fond of me a bit!"
+
+"Yes I am. What a fool you are! I'm awfully fond of you, Dolly."
+
+"And are you very happy?"
+
+"Yes, very fairly happy," said Savile. "And mind you have that powder
+all brushed out of your hair. I don't like it."
+
+They walked to the gate.
+
+"I really have missed you awfully, dear," said Savile gently.
+
+"You have your faults, Savile, but you are reliable, I _will_ say that."
+
+"Rather," said Savile. "I'll bring you a ring this afternoon or
+to-morrow."
+
+"What! How lovely! But I shan't be allowed to wear it."
+
+"Then keep it till you can."
+
+"It's very sweet of you. Good-bye, Savile."
+
+"Good-bye, dear. I say, Dolly?"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Oh, nothing!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+SAVILE AND JASMYN
+
+
+Savile had written asking Jasmyn Vere to see him on a matter of
+importance.
+
+Jasmyn promptly and courteously made an appointment, and spent the
+intervening hours chuckling to himself at the solemn tone of the letter,
+and wondering what in Heaven's name the child could possibly want.
+
+He received Savile in a kind of winter garden, or conservatory at the
+back of his house, and went to meet him with the most charming
+cordiality, to put the boy at his ease. He would have been rather
+surprised had he known that something about his reddish hair, and his
+mouth open with hospitable welcome against the green background,
+reminded the boy irresistibly of an amiable gold-fish.
+
+"So delighted, dear boy, that you should have thought of me. Anything,
+of course, in the world that I could do for you, or for any of your
+charming family, I should look upon as a real privilege. Have a
+cigarette? You smoke, of course? You oughtn't to. Take this nice
+comfortable chair--not that one, it's horrid--and tell me all about it."
+
+"Thanks, awfully," said Savile seriously, intensely amused at his host's
+nervous, elaborate politeness, and trying hard to repress the
+inclination to laugh that Jasmyn always inspired in him. How fluttered
+and flattered the dear old thing seemed! Savile wasn't a bit frightened
+of him.
+
+"I knew you know all about things, Mr. Vere," said Savile, accepting a
+cigarette and a cushioned deck-chair, "and I thought I'd ask your advice
+about something."
+
+Jasmyn was completely at a loss. Could it be a question of a tenner? It
+so often was. But no, he felt sure that it was nothing quite so
+commonplace, or quite so simple.
+
+In a few minutes he had heard and thoroughly taken in the whole story.
+
+He was most interested, and particularly sympathetic about Sylvia,
+though from his own point of view--the worldly social-conventional
+view--she ought to have done better. As he thought it over he walked up
+and down the winter garden.
+
+Some birds were twittering in gold cages among the palms and plants, and
+every now and then he stopped to talk to them in the little language
+one uses to pets, which irritated Savile to the verge of madness.
+
+"I know of one thing," said Jasmyn, "and only one, that might do. I know
+a charming young fellow who's been ordered to travel for a year, and
+needs a companion. He doesn't want to go, a bit; but his relatives might
+be able to persuade him to, if he took a fancy to Woodville, and I'm
+sure he would. He's just a little mad. That would be delightful for your
+friend if he could get it: yachting for six months; a motoring tour in
+Italy; all sorts of nice things. He's a man called Newman Ferguson."
+
+"But you see, it's Woodville himself who wants a companion," said
+Savile. "I don't think in his present state he'd be particularly keen on
+being shut up alone on a yacht with a raving lunatic, and struggling
+with him in a padded state-room. I shouldn't think he'd do for the post.
+Then, I don't see how his going away for a year would help."
+
+"True, my dear boy. How clever you are! Well, I suppose I must think it
+over, and look round."
+
+Savile looked very disappointed.
+
+"I mustn't let you go without giving you some hope, though. I see how
+much your heart is in it!" said Jasmyn good-naturedly.
+
+"Can you give any general sort of advice?" Savile asked. "How _does_ a
+chap get things?"
+
+"It's very, very difficult, dear Savile, and it's getting more and more
+difficult--unless you're related to somebody--or have heaps of money.
+The really best thing, of course, for our friend, would be to go into
+some kind of business. I'll look out and see if something turns up. Now
+look here," and Jasmyn put his arm in Savile's, "if it's something of
+that sort, and it's merely some--a--cash for capital that's required,
+let him look upon me as his banker. Tell him that, Savile. You'll know
+how."
+
+"No, I shan't know how, Mr. Vere. He wouldn't like it. And then,
+besides, you see he doesn't know anything about it--I mean about my
+coming to you like this. Sylvia doesn't, either. Of course, old
+Woodville would be very pleased if I went and told him he'd got some
+capital appointment. He'd soon forgive me then for my cheek in
+interfering. But not what you've just said. Awfully jolly of you,
+though."
+
+Jasmyn took a few steps back and stared at Savile.
+
+"You mean to say you've undertaken this all on your own? Why, you're a
+marvel! Haven't you really mentioned it to a soul?"
+
+"As a matter of fact," said Savile scrupulously, "I _did_ just mention
+something about it--not your name or theirs, of course--to the girl I'm
+engaged to. But she doesn't know any more about it than she did before."
+
+Jasmyn exploded with laughter.
+
+"Savile, you'll go far. So much prudence combined with so much
+pluck--why you'll end by being Prime Minister!"
+
+"I shouldn't care for that. Besides, I can't," Savile said
+apologetically, "I'm going into the army."
+
+"And what about _your_ engagement?"
+
+"Nothing about it. It won't make any difference."
+
+"To whom?"
+
+"Why, to me--or to _her_ either--so far as that goes."
+
+"Tell me why you're so keen about Woodville, and what you're taking all
+this trouble for, old boy?"
+
+"Why, for my sister, of course!" Savile answered, surprised.
+
+"You're a dear good boy. And you shan't be disappointed. As soon as I
+hear of anything I'll let you know, and we'll talk it over again. When
+do you go back to school?"
+
+"In a few days," said Savile, getting up to go.
+
+"Poor chap! Well, well, we'll see what happens. Must you go now? Cheer
+up. It's sure to come all right. And I say, Savile----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Remember me kindly to your fiancee, won't you?"
+
+"Of _course_ I shan't! She's never heard of you. Her mother doesn't let
+her read the papers, not even the _Morning Post_. And besides, it's
+quite a private engagement."
+
+"You can trust me, Savile. Just tell me one thing," Jasmyn said, with an
+inquisitive leer. "Is she dark or fair?"
+
+"Not very," said Savile.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+SAVILE AND BERTIE
+
+
+As Wilton was convinced that a satisfactory ending to the trouble was
+imminent, he naturally felt a great desire to be, somehow, the cause of
+Felicity's renewed happiness; to get, as it were, the credit of it. That
+his admiration (to put it mildly) should take the form of chivalrous
+devotion would be, at least, something; especially as it was evident
+that no other satisfaction was likely to come his way. Her one other
+confidant was Savile; and it struck Bertie that a kind of confederation
+with the boy might be a success.
+
+Besides, it would be fun.... Savile hadn't ever been cordial with him,
+but had retained a rather cool, ironical manner, as if suspicious of his
+attitude. Bertie had that peculiar vanity that consists in an acute
+desire to be able to please everybody. He had always felt absurdly
+annoyed at being unable to gain Savile's approval. And the wish to make
+a conquest of every one connected with Her was no doubt part of his
+reason for sending Savile an urgent message to come and see him
+immediately.
+
+He was now waiting in his rooms at Half-Moon Street for the boy's
+arrival.
+
+Savile had promised to come round in a reserved and cautious note, but
+the request had given him intense gratification and joy. He felt he
+really was becoming a person of importance.
+
+The instant Savile arrived he made up his mind that as soon as he was
+grown up and able to have rooms of his own, they should be arranged, in
+every particular, exactly like Wilton's. But instead of the Romney, the
+one picture that Bertie possessed, and which bore so striking a likeness
+to Felicity, he decided he would have in its place a large portrait of
+Madame Patti.
+
+"Look here, old boy, perhaps you think this rather cheek of me. But we
+both know that your sister's rather worried just now."
+
+"She _is_ a bit off colour," admitted Savile.
+
+"Well, why on earth don't you put it straight?"
+
+Savile's expression remained impassible. He said:
+
+"Think I ought?"
+
+"You're the only person who can."
+
+"All right," said Savile. "I'll write to Chetwode."
+
+"It'll take some time, writing and getting an answer," said Wilton.
+
+"No good expecting an answer," said Savile. "He's the sort of chap who
+never writes letters unless they're unnecessary."
+
+"And Lady Chetwode will be in a hurry," observed Bertie.
+
+"You know her pretty well," said Savile.
+
+"Then what's your idea?"
+
+"I shall send him an enormous wire," said Savile--"he's more likely to
+read it than a letter--explaining the whole thing, and telling him to
+come home at once. I shan't ask for an answer."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because I shouldn't get it."
+
+"Good. That's a capital idea. But--a--Savile, can you afford these
+luxuries? I couldn't have, when I was a boy at Eton.--Look here, let
+me----"
+
+Savile turned round and looked Wilton straight in the face.
+
+"No, thanks," he said deliberately, shaking his head. Bertie's colour
+rose.
+
+"But, my dear boy, why on earth not?"
+
+"Oh, I expect you know," said Savile. Then feeling a little remorseful
+for the rebuff, he added: "Don't you bother about that. Besides, Aunt
+William gave me a couple of quid the other day to buy a ring for the
+girl I'm engaged to. I shan't buy it just yet. That's all."
+
+Bertie concealed his amusement.
+
+"Then you'll have to keep the poor girl waiting," he said.
+
+"Keep her waiting?" said Savile. "Of course I shall. It's a very good
+plan." He got up and took his hat. "Makes them more keen. Don't you find
+it so?"
+
+"In _my_ unfortunate experience nothing makes them keen at all, unless,
+of course, it's some one one doesn't want. And then everything does."
+
+"Hard luck!" said Savile, shaking his head wisely, and took his leave,
+thinking with a smile that Wilton, having obviously got the chuck, was
+trying to keep in favour by playing the good friend. "He's not half a
+bad chap," thought Savile. "And I'll send that wire; it's a good idea."
+
+He stood under a lamp at the corner of Half-Moon Street and counted his
+money.
+
+"Confound it, I've only got a bob! It'll just pay for a cab to Aunt
+William's."
+
+Thoroughly enjoying this exciting and adventurous life of diplomacy, he
+arrived at his aunt's. She was dressing for dinner. Nevertheless, for
+Savile, she came downstairs in a magenta wrapper.
+
+"I hope there's nothing wrong, my dear boy," she said.
+
+"No, everything's quite all right. But--you know what you gave me the
+other day, Aunt William?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Sorry to say it's all gone."
+
+"Oh, Savile!"
+
+"Before I go back," said Savile, with a note of pathos in his voice,
+"I've one or two little presents I'm awfully keen on giving. I dare say
+you understand."
+
+She didn't understand, but she gave him a five-pound note.
+
+He beamed, and said, "Well, of all the bricks!"
+
+"You promise me to spend it wisely, Savile dear. But I know I can trust
+you."
+
+"Rather! This will be more frightfully useful than you can possibly
+imagine. Well, it seems beastly to rush in and get all I can, and then
+fly; but I've simply got to go. Besides, you want to dress," said
+Savile, looking at the wrapper.
+
+"Yes. Get along with you, and I do hope that you won't turn out a
+dreadful, extravagant, fast young man when you're grown up," said Aunt
+William, with relish at the idea.
+
+Savile smiled.
+
+"Don't you worry about _that_, Aunt William! Why, you're thinking of
+ages ago, or Ouida, or something. There's no such thing nowadays as a
+fast young man, as you call it. They're always talking about how ill
+they are, or how hard up, and how they don't want to be bothered with
+women."
+
+"How do you mean, dear?"
+
+"Why, they're frightened to death of girls marrying them against their
+will--or getting mixed up in things--oh, I don't know! Anyhow, women
+seem to think it a great score to get hold of one. So that proves it,
+don't you think?"
+
+"Then why is it that your sisters, for instance, are always surrounded
+by admirers?" said Aunt William.
+
+"First of all, surrounded is bosh. Just as much as what you're always
+saying, that Sylvia has the world at her feet. They happen to be
+particularly pretty, and Felicity's jolly clever. But after all, they
+have only one or two each--admirers, I mean. And _they_--the girls--are
+exceptions."
+
+Aunt William sighed.
+
+"You're very worldly-wise, and you're a very clever boy, but you don't
+know everything."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+THE EXPLANATION
+
+
+The fact that Chetwode was returning more than a week sooner than she
+had expected, seemed to Felicity a hopeful sign. She hesitated for about
+half an hour as to whether or not she should go and meet him at the
+station. Doubt and dignity suggested remaining at home, but impatience
+carried the day.
+
+As she was waiting on the platform, the prophecy of Madame Zero occurred
+to her, and she thought to herself, with a smile--
+
+"She doesn't seem so bad at prophesying what one's _going_ to do. It's
+when she prophesies what one _ought_ to have done that the poor dear
+gets out of her depth."
+
+When he had arrived, and they were driving off together, she thought he
+looked neither more nor less serene and casual than usual; his actual
+presence seemed to radiate calm and dispose of anxiety; her suspicions
+began to melt away.
+
+They had dined together, and talked on generalities, and neither had
+mentioned the subject. Chetwode's intense dislike to any disturbing
+topic infected Felicity; she now felt a desire to let him off even an
+explanation. She wished she had never seen the velvet case, or, at any
+rate, that she had never mentioned it to any one. He didn't, she
+fancied, look as if he were deceiving her in any way. His affection was
+not more marked than usual, nor less so. She observed there was no tinge
+in his manner of an attempt to make up for anything. Yet the question
+had to be asked.
+
+"What did you do most of the time there?" began Felicity.
+
+"Nothing. Played bridge."
+
+"By the way," said Felicity, "you've never told me what _Mrs._
+Tregelly's like."
+
+"Of course I haven't. She isn't like anything."
+
+"Isn't she very pretty?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose she's all right--for Tregelly," said Chetwode.
+
+"Then if you don't admire her at all, would you mind telling me why you
+have her portrait locked up in a velvet case?" demanded Felicity in a
+soft, sweet voice.
+
+"I wonder!" said Chetwode.
+
+"Oh, don't be so irritating. Don't you _know_ you have it?"
+
+"I haven't known it long."
+
+His coolness roused her, and she said angrily--
+
+"Then you ought to have known. I've been fearing that your casual ways
+are a very convenient screen for----"
+
+"For what?" he asked, smiling. He was disposed to tease her for having
+doubted him.
+
+She did not answer. He came and sat next to her.
+
+"And so you would have cared?"
+
+"Cared? I should think so. I've been miserable!"
+
+"What a shame! I'm very sorry--I mean, very glad. But you might have
+spared yourself all this worry, dear, if you'd thought two minutes."
+
+"How? How do you prove that what I imagined isn't true?"
+
+"My dear girl, could you seriously suspect me of wanting to possess a
+coloured portrait on porcelain taken from a photograph? Did you think
+I'd have such a thing in the house--except inadvertently?"
+
+"It's a pretty face," she said.
+
+"But it's an appalling picture! Don't I _care_ about things? I hope I
+haven't got any silly vanity about it, but I don't think I ever have
+anything wrong--I mean, artistically."
+
+He looked round the room with the uncontrollable pride of the collector.
+
+"No, my dear," he went on, "you've done me an injustice. From you I'm
+really surprised."
+
+"But _anything_, as a souvenir of a person you like very much ..." she
+said hesitatingly.
+
+"Oh, all right!" he answered. "Do you suppose if I'd an awful oleograph
+of _you_, even--that I'd keep it as a souvenir? Good heavens, Felicity,
+one doesn't bring sentiment into _that_ sort of thing! You ought to have
+known me better."
+
+She waited a moment.
+
+"Then on those grounds alone I'm to consider I'm utterly wrong?"
+
+"Rather! Suppose you'd found a wonderful early sketch by Whistler or
+Burne-Jones, say, of a pretty woman--even then I should never have
+believed you'd be such a Philistine as to suppose that the person who
+_sat_ for it had any interest for me. But a thing like that!" He laughed
+and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"How did it get there?"
+
+"How did it get there?" he answered. "Last time I stayed with them,
+Tregelly sent it up to me for my critical opinion on it as a work of
+art." He laughed. "It made me so sick that I locked it up, and dropped
+or lost the key, or else I told the man to put it away. As he's an ass,
+I suppose he packed it among my things. I suppose Tregelly thought I
+gave it to his wife, and she thought I gave it back to him, as I heard
+no more about the thing then. But this time, as soon as I arrived," he
+smiled, "it was passionately reclaimed by both--and I promised to have a
+look."
+
+Felicity clapped her hands.
+
+"Then I'll send it back at once, and--will you have a look?"
+
+"Good God, no! Never let me see the thing again." He took up a paper as
+if tired of the subject.
+
+"Did you come back to look for it?" she asked.
+
+"I came back because I received a three-volume novel wire from Savile,
+explaining what he called the situation."
+
+"Fancy! Isn't he wonderful?"
+
+"He's the limit," said Chetwode, laughing.
+
+"But you might tell me, dear Chetwode; it isn't really for her that you
+go there?"
+
+"Really, Felicity! I hardly ever see her! She's always busy with her
+children or rattling her house-keeping keys. Oh, she's all
+_right_--suits Tregelly, poor chap! Are we through now?" he asked, with
+patience.
+
+"No. Won't you kiss me and forgive me?"
+
+"Presently," he said, turning a page of the paper.
+
+"May I just say that nothing of this sort could ever have happened
+if--if you didn't go away just a _little_ too much? From the very first
+you know you were always absolutely free. I've the greatest horror of
+bothering you, or tyrannising in any way, but don't you think it's gone
+a little too far? If we hadn't been rather separated, I couldn't have
+made such a mistake about you. Suppose you'd found, privately locked up,
+a similar portrait of Bertie Wilton, say, wouldn't _you_ have thought
+things?"
+
+"Wilton's an ass," said Chetwode. "But he does _know_. To give him his
+due, I couldn't have found a similar portrait of him. He isn't capable
+of allowing such a thing to exist."
+
+"Well, say a good portrait," said Felicity. "Do let us be perfectly
+frank with each other."
+
+"We will," said Chetwode. "I _am_ rather sick of Wilton."
+
+"He's really an awfully good boy," said Felicity.
+
+"Then let him be a good boy somewhere else. I'm tired of him."
+
+"I'll see less of him," she answered.
+
+"Good!" said Chetwode.
+
+"And--I know it was a very long speech I made just now, but don't you
+think I'm right?"
+
+"I didn't hear," he answered. "I was listening to your voice."
+
+"Then must I say it all over again? I _really_ want you to take it in,
+Chetwode," she said pleadingly.
+
+"Say it all over again, and as much more as you like, dear."
+
+"And then will you tell me you haven't heard?"
+
+He threw down the newspaper.
+
+"Very likely. I shall have been looking at your lips."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+THE QUARREL
+
+
+"The other day," said Sylvia, "you were perfectly sweet to me. I was
+really happy; I knew you loved me, and that was quite enough. Now again
+I feel that miserable doubtfulness."
+
+"May I ask," said Woodville, who was sitting in front of a pile of
+papers, while Sylvia was leaning her head on her hand opposite him at
+the table, "how it is that you're here again?"
+
+He spoke in a tone that was carefully not affectionate and that he tried
+not to make irritable.
+
+"Certainly. I arranged to go out with Felicity--before papa--and then I
+telephoned to her that I had a headache."
+
+"Isn't that what you did on Thursday?"
+
+"No; on Thursday I said I was going to the dentist. And came in here
+instead."
+
+"Do you intend to do this often?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, continually."
+
+He rustled the papers.
+
+"Why shouldn't I? Don't you like it?" she said.
+
+"I can't help thinking it's rather risky. Suppose Felicity comes and
+finds you in blooming health?"
+
+"Surely I can recover from my headache if I like? Besides, she
+telephoned to me to get some aspirin. She won't expect me to be down
+till this afternoon, and she won't come till then."
+
+"_Did_ you get some?"
+
+"Frank, what idiotic questions you ask!"
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Don't you think, dear," she said, "this is very jolly, to arrange to
+have two hours like this alone together?"
+
+"Oh, delightful! But I don't see what's the good of it, as we're
+placed."
+
+"Not to have a nice quiet talk?"
+
+"I have nothing to talk about." He seemed nervous.
+
+"Are you going to be like this when we're married?" asked Sylvia in a
+disappointed voice.
+
+"Not at all!"
+
+"Oh, I'm _so_ glad! If you'll excuse my saying so, Frank darling, you
+seem to me to have a rather sulky disposition."
+
+He seized the papers and threw them on the floor.
+
+"Sulky? _I, sulky?_ You never made a greater mistake. You're not a good
+judge of character, Sylvia. Don't go in for it. Leave it alone. You'll
+never make anything of it, you haven't the gift. As it happens, I have a
+very good temper, except that now and then I'm 'rather violent when
+roused,' as the palmists say, but sulky--never!"
+
+Sylvia seemed to have made up her mind to be irritating. She laughed a
+good deal. (She looked most lovely when laughing.)
+
+"What are you laughing at?" he asked.
+
+"At you. Pretending to be violent, good-tempered. Of course you're
+neither. What you think is self-control is merely sulkiness."
+
+His eyes flashed.
+
+"What do you want?" he said, in an undertone.
+
+"Why, I want you to be sensible and jolly; like you were that day at
+Richmond."
+
+"How can I be like I was that day at Richmond? It was a lovely day; we
+were in the country; it was our escapade. It was an exceptional case."
+
+"Oh dear! Then will you only be _like that_ as an exceptional case?"
+
+"My dear child, you don't understand. When a man has--has work to do,"
+he said rather hesitatingly.
+
+She laughed again.
+
+"Work! It must be frightfully important work if you throw it on the
+floor from temper."
+
+He bore this well, and answered, picking up the papers, "Important or
+not, it's what I'm here for--it's what your father pays me for. How on
+earth he can think I'm the slightest use to him I can't imagine."
+
+"Oh, he knows you're not, really, dear," said Sylvia soothingly. "But
+he's grown used to you, and to have a secretary makes him feel he's a
+sort of important public man. Don't you see?"
+
+"What! I'm _not_ useful to him?" Woodville asked angrily. "I should like
+to know----" Here he stopped.
+
+"I suppose you think he won't know what to do without you when we're
+married," said Sylvia.
+
+"Oh, I do wish you'd leave off saying that, Sylvia."
+
+"Saying what?"
+
+"When we're married. You have no idea how irritating you are, darling."
+
+"Irritating? Oh dear, Frank, I'm so sorry. Do forgive me. Perhaps it is
+rather bad taste, but I say it to cheer you up, to remind you you have
+something to look forward to. Do you see?"
+
+She looked at him sweetly, but he would not meet her eyes.
+
+"Perhaps you're _not_ looking forward to it?" she said in a piqued
+voice.
+
+"Sylvia, would you mind going away?"
+
+"Oh, all right. Very well. I won't disturb you any more. It's very sweet
+and conscientious of you to bother about the papers. I'll go. Shan't you
+want me always with you when we're married?"
+
+"Never!" he answered. "At least, not if I have any other occupation."
+
+Her eyes brightened.
+
+"Oh! then it isn't that I worry you, but I sort of distract your
+attention. Is that it?"
+
+He made no answer.
+
+"I'm afraid," said Sylvia sadly, "that we shall quarrel dreadfully."
+
+"Quarrel? Rot!" said Woodville. "We shall _never_ quarrel. You'll do
+exactly what I tell you--and I shall devote myself to doing everything
+for your good."
+
+"If I thought you meant anything as dull as that I should break it off
+at once," said Sylvia. "The programme doesn't sound attractive."
+
+He laughed. "How do you think it ought to be then?"
+
+"There'll be only one will between us," said Sylvia, "that is to say,
+you'll do everything I want always, Frank. Do you hear? Won't you
+answer? Well, I see you're in a bad temper." She got up. "Good-bye." She
+held out her hand. "I shall hardly see you again all day, and Frank----I
+see you don't want to kiss me once before I go."
+
+"Oh, you see that, do you?"
+
+"Of course, I think you're an ideal man and a darling in every way, and
+I love you very much, but I think it's a pity you're so cold and
+heartless." She came nearer to him.
+
+"Don't say that again," he said, with a rather dangerous look.
+
+"But you are! You're absolutely cold. I think you only love me as a
+duty."
+
+At this Woodville seemed to lose his head. He seized her in his arms and
+kissed her roughly and at random, holding her close to him.
+
+"Oh don't, Frank. How can you be so horrid? You're making my hair
+untidy. Oh, Frank!"
+
+When he at last released her, he walked to the window and looked out.
+She went to the looking-glass with tears in her eyes, and arranged her
+hair.
+
+"I didn't think," she said reproachfully, "that you could behave like
+that, Frank!"
+
+He made no reply.
+
+As she stood at the door she said, pouting, "You didn't seem to care
+whether _I_ liked it or not."
+
+"And I didn't!" said Woodville. "I wasn't thinking about what you'd
+like."
+
+"And--shan't you ever think about what I'd like?"
+
+"Oh, I shall think a great deal about what you'd like," said Woodville,
+"and I shall see that you like it. But that will be different. I don't
+apologise; you brought it on yourself."
+
+"I'll try to forgive you," said Sylvia. "But now, I really _have_ a
+headache."
+
+"Take some aspirin," said Woodville.
+
+"How peculiar you are! Then I'm not to come in to-morrow morning?"
+
+"Do as you like; you know what to expect."
+
+"Why, you don't mean to say you would behave like that _again_?"
+
+"I shall make it a rule," he answered.
+
+"It's unkind of you to say that, because now you know I _can't_ come."
+
+"This sort of thing is becoming impossible," said Woodville. "You make
+it worse for me."
+
+"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I assure you it wasn't what I wanted,
+really."
+
+"I dare say not. But you don't understand."
+
+"Will you promise never to break the compact again?" said Sylvia,
+looking up at him sweetly.
+
+"Will you go?" he answered in a low voice.
+
+This time she went.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+VERA'S ADVENTURE
+
+
+Mrs. Ogilvie stopped at Hatchards' and fluttered in her usual vague way
+to the bookshop.
+
+"I want some serious books," she said. "Something about Life or
+Philosophy or anything of that kind."
+
+The young man said he understood exactly what she meant, and produced a
+new book by Hichens.
+
+"But that's a novel! I want a real philosophical work."
+
+"_Maxims of Love_, by Stendhal," suggested the young man.
+
+"What a pretty book! No--I mean something _really_ dull. Have you
+anything by Schopenhauer? or Dr. Reich?"
+
+The young man said that he thought anything of that kind could be got,
+and meanwhile suggested Benson.
+
+"No, that's too frivolous," said Vera seriously. She then bought
+casually _Mr. Punch on the Continong_, and left orders for books by
+Plato, Herbert Spencer, and various other thoughtful writers, to be sent
+to her without loss of time.
+
+She then drove to the dressmaker's. Whenever she had fallen freshly in
+love she got new dresses and new books. To-day she ordered a rather ugly
+but very expensive new evening dress, rather weakly, at the last moment,
+buying a tea-gown that she did not want.
+
+Then she began to think she wanted to see Felicity, and yet she liked to
+feel she had a sort of secret to herself for a little while. It really
+had been a declaration, and Felicity had a way of inquiring into these
+things and examining them until they were entirely analysed away.
+
+No, she thought she would like to see him again before saying anything
+about it. He was a serious man. She had met him at a musical German
+lunch, where she had not expected to be amused. He looked as if he had
+suffered--or, perhaps, sat up too late.... He had dark blue eyes, which
+she chose to call violet. He talked, beautifully about philosophy. He
+made her feel she had a Soul--which was just the sort of thing she
+needed; and though he was at a musical German lunch, he was neither
+musical nor German, and his satisfaction in sitting next to her instead
+of next a celebrated German singer who was present was both obvious and
+complimentary. Yet what had he really said?
+
+He had said, "My dear Mrs. Ogilvie, human nature is human nature all the
+world over, and there's no getting away from it, try how you will. Oh!
+don't get me on my hobby, because I'm afraid I shall bore you, but I'm a
+bit of a philosopher in my way."
+
+How clever! But what did he mean? He told her to read philosophy. He
+said she had the eyes of a mystic. She had spent several minutes looking
+in the mirror trying to see the strange mysticism he saw in her eyes,
+and remembering the prophesies of Zero.
+
+They talked a long time after lunch in the deep window seat, where the
+music was audible but not disturbing, and she had not asked him to call.
+She was always asking people to call, and they always called, and it was
+always the same, nothing ever came of it. Probably some instinct told
+her she would see him again, or she could not have resisted. Finally he
+said, "We have known each other in a previous existence. This is an old
+friendship. I shall come and see you to-morrow."
+
+"Not to-morrow--Thursday," said Vera, thinking she would not have time
+to get a new dress. So he was coming to-morrow. Perhaps he would give
+her some new philosophy of life. He would make the riddle of existence
+clear. He had bright and beautiful eyes, but--and here came in Vera's
+weakness--she could not make up her mind even to fall in love without
+some comment of Felicity's.
+
+Supposing Felicity said it was charming and just the right thing for
+her, how delightful that would be! On the other hand, she might make one
+of those terrible enlightening little remarks that smashed up all
+illusions and practically spoilt the fun. How right she had been about
+Bobby! "_Not worth worrying about._" How right about many other people!
+Then Felicity now settled nothing (with regard to people) without
+consulting Bertie. Instead of taking a person just as he appeared as
+Vera did, "Charming man, most cultured--I'm sure you'll like him," as
+the hostess, Mrs. Dorfenstein, had said, Bertie would know everything
+about him--who his father and mother were, why he happened to be at the
+German lunch, his profession, his favourite hobbies, what was his usual
+method, and a hundred other things likely to prevent any sort of
+surprises. Really, Felicity and Bertie together were a rather formidable
+couple of psychologists. Felicity often amused herself by experimenting
+on the people that Bertie had discovered. What Vera feared more than
+anything else was that Mr. Newman Ferguson would be pronounced a very
+simple case. When she came home from her drive she saw a letter--a new
+handwriting, which she instinctively felt certain was from Mr. Ferguson.
+Therefore, although she was alone, she put it in her muff, went and
+locked herself into her room, and began to read it.
+
+The first thing that struck her was the remarkably beautiful, carefully
+formed handwriting, and the immense length of the letter.
+
+Pink with joy and excitement, her hat and furs still on, she read--
+
+"_My dear Mrs. Ogilvie, ... Ships that pass in the night.... Friends
+signalling.... Elective affinities._" ... "Oh, good gracious!" She
+glanced hastily at the signature. "_Strange as it may seem, I am now and
+for all time your devoted slave, Newman Ferguson._"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At last Vera's wish had been granted; some one had really fallen in love
+with her. But she had not patience to read the letter through. Her
+friend's counsel was necessary instantly.
+
+She flew to the telephone. "Felicity!--Oh, there you are!... I meant not
+to tell you, but something _so_ exciting has happened.... Yesterday at
+the German lunch ... a wonderful person.... His name?--Newman
+Ferguson.... Have you ever heard of him?... You'll find out all about
+him from Bertie.... Thanks.... Couldn't I see you to-day? Very well,
+then, ring me up if you have any news.... Keep calm indeed! I _am_
+keeping calm!"
+
+Mr. Ogilvie's knock was heard. Vera hid the letter and went downstairs.
+
+Felicity walked in at ten o'clock the next morning. Vera thought she had
+rather a peculiar expression.
+
+"Don't you think it sounds lovely?" said Vera.
+
+"I should like to see the letter."
+
+They read the letter together.
+
+"What an extraordinary conglomeration! I can't make head or tail of it."
+
+"He's coming to see me this afternoon."
+
+"Is he, though?"
+
+"What do you know about him?"
+
+"Well, Bertie knows the Dorfensteins who gave the lunch, and he says
+they don't know anything about him at all. He was just sort of brought
+instead of some one else."
+
+"Does Bertie know him?" asked Vera.
+
+"Well, yes, he does a little, and he says he's very nice generally."
+
+"What _do_ you mean by 'generally'?"
+
+At this moment the servant came in and said, "Mr. Newman Ferguson has
+called and wishes to see you immediately."
+
+"Good heavens!" said Vera.
+
+"Show him in!" said Felicity.
+
+They were sitting in the little yellow boudoir, Mr. Ogilvie having just
+gone out.
+
+Mr. Newman Ferguson came in, carrying an enormous bouquet. He bowed most
+courteously, offered Vera the bouquet, and said--
+
+"Human nature is human nature all the world over, my dear lady. There's
+no getting away from it, try how you will."
+
+"It's very early for you to think of such a clever thing to say," said
+Felicity.
+
+"I trust you don't think it's too early to call."
+
+"Not at all," said Vera, looking terrified.
+
+"The only thing is," said Felicity, "that my friend and I are just going
+out."
+
+She stood up.
+
+"Then pray excuse me," said Mr. Newman Ferguson; "I will call a little
+later on to-day instead."
+
+"Where did you say you were staying now?" said Felicity.
+
+"I'm at the Savoy at present, but I hope to move very soon," he said,
+with a meaning look.
+
+Felicity saw him to the door where he had left his cab, came back, and
+stood silently looking at her friend and the bouquet.
+
+"My dear Felicity, there's no doubt he's madly in love with me," said
+Vera. "Can you deny it?"
+
+"My dear Vera, he's raving mad," answered Felicity.
+
+"What?" cried Vera.
+
+"Is it possible that you don't see it?"
+
+"But look at that clever letter!" said Vera.
+
+"It's the maddest letter I ever read. Besides, dear, I know about it.
+Don't distress yourself. Bertie says he was always eccentric, but
+sometimes he's quite all right for years. Then, any sudden excitement,
+especially Falling in Love----"
+
+"Then you own he _did_ fall in love with me?"
+
+"Oh, of course, of course! Certainly! No one denies that. But I really
+think we ought to write to the Dorfensteins and get them to tell the
+Savoy people to look after him. It's very sad. He has rather a nice
+manner--nice eyes."
+
+Vera buried her face in her handkerchief.
+
+"Now don't worry, darling," said Felicity affectionately. "Be out when
+he calls, and I'm quite sure we shall soon find some one quite sane who
+will amuse you just as much."
+
+"Never!" sobbed Vera. "It's just like my luck! Oh, and the books I
+ordered, and the new dress. I can never bear to look at them."
+
+"It's a very good thing we found it out," said Felicity.
+
+"But how on earth does Bertie know?"
+
+"He knows everything--about people, I mean--and he's always right. In
+fact, he sent you a message to ask you to be very careful, and said he'd
+come and see you about it."
+
+"Rather cool! It seems I can't have _any_ secret to myself now," panted
+Mrs. Ogilvie.
+
+"Well, you see, dear, you _did_ ask me to get all the information I
+could, and after all I only told Bertie you _met_ Mr. Ferguson. He
+guessed that he would fall in love with you, and bring you a bouquet
+early in the morning, and write you a lot of letters about philosophy."
+
+"How did he know?"
+
+"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, dear, it's because it's what he
+always does."
+
+Vera began to laugh.
+
+"Tell Bertie he need not trouble to call about it, I'd rather forget
+it."
+
+"Oh, of course he won't _now_!"
+
+"He doesn't know, then, that I was in love with him? Besides, I wasn't."
+
+"Certainly he doesn't. Besides, you weren't."
+
+"I hate the sight of that bouquet," said Vera.
+
+"Yes, let's send it away; and now come for a drive with me."
+
+"All right, dear. I say, couldn't we countermand those philosophical
+books?"
+
+"Yes, of course we will. What do you feel you'd like instead?"
+
+"Oh, something by Pett Ridge," said Vera, recklessly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+AUNT WILLIAM'S DAY
+
+
+It was a chilly spring afternoon and Aunt William was seated by the fire
+doing wool-work, for she disapproved of the idle habits of the present
+day and thought that a lady should always have her fingers employed in
+some way; not, of course, either with cards or cigarettes. She was
+getting on steadily with the foot-stool she was making; a neat design of
+a fox's head with a background of green leaves. In the course of her
+life Aunt William had done many, many miles of wool-work. It was neither
+embroidery nor tapestry; it was made on canvas with what is known for
+some mysterious reason as Berlin wool; and was so simple that it used to
+be called the Idiot Stitch; but the curious elaboration of the design
+and sort of dignified middle-Victorian futility about it cast a glamour
+over the whole, and dispelled any association of idiocy from the
+complete work. A banner screen was now in front of the fire, which Aunt
+William had worked during a winter at St. Leonards, and which
+represented enormous squashed roses like purple cauliflowers, with a
+red-brown background--a shade called, in her youth, Bismarck brown, and
+for which she always retained a certain weakness.
+
+It was her day, and on Aunt William's day she invariably wore a
+shot-silk dress, shot with green and violet; the bodice trimmed with
+bugles, the skirt plain and flowing. Aunt William did not have that
+straight-fronted look that is such a consolation to our modern women who
+are getting on in years, but went in decidedly at the waist, her figure
+being like a neat pincushion. Her voice was deep, her mind of a somewhat
+manly and decided order, so that the touches of feminine timidity or
+sentiment taught her in early youth sat oddly enough on her now. In
+reality she hated wool-work, but did it partly from tradition and partly
+from a contrary disposition; because other people didn't like it, and
+even because she didn't like it herself.
+
+Her first visitor was a very old and dear friend of hers whom she
+particularly disliked and disapproved of, Lady Virginia Harper. Lady
+Virginia was a very tall, thin, faded blonde, still full of shadowy
+vitality, who wore a flaxen transformation so obviously artificial that
+not the most censorious person by the utmost stretch of malice could
+assume it was meant to deceive the public. With equal candour she wore a
+magnificent set of teeth, and a touch of rouge on each cheek-bone. To
+Aunt William's extreme annoyance Lady Virginia was dressed to-day in a
+strange medley of the artistic style combined oddly with a rather wild
+attempt at Parisian smartness. That is to say, in her cloak and furs she
+looked almost like an outside coloured plate on the cover of _Paris
+Fashions_; while when she threw it open one could see that she wore a
+limp _crepe de chine_ Empire gown of an undecided mauve, with a waist
+under the arms and puffed sleeves. On her head was a very smart bright
+blue flower toque, put on entirely wrong, with a loose blue veil hanging
+at the back. Had anything been required to decide the question of her
+looking grotesque, I should mention that she wore long mauve _suede_
+gloves. That settled it. A gold bag dangled from her left wrist, and she
+carried a little fan of carved ivory. She looked, naturally,--or
+unnaturally--slightly absurd, but had great distinction and no sort of
+affectation, while an expression that alternated between amiable
+enthusiasm and absent-minded depression characterised her shadowy
+indefinite features.
+
+Aunt William received her with self-control, and she immediately asked
+for tea.
+
+"Certainly. It is half-past three, and I regard five as tea-time. But as
+you wish, dear Virginia." Aunt William pulled the bell with manly vigour
+and ill-tempered hospitality.
+
+"Have you heard that _divine_ new infant harpist? He's perfectly
+exquisite--a genius. But _the_ person I've come to talk to you about,
+Mary, is the new singer, Delestin. He's perfectly heavenly! And so
+good-looking! I've taken him up--quite--and I want you to be kind about
+him, dear Mary."
+
+"I'll take two tickets for his concert," said Aunt William harshly. "But
+I won't go to the concert and I won't come and hear him sing."
+
+"Now that's so like you, Mary! He isn't _giving_ a concert, and I _want_
+you to hear him sing. He's too charming. Such a gentle soft creature,
+and so highly-strung. The other day after he had sung at my house--it
+was something of Richard Strauss's, certainly a very enervating song, I
+must own that--he simply fainted at the piano, and had to be taken away.
+So, if you give a party, do have him, dear Mary! You will, won't you?"
+
+"Most certainly not! A protege of yours who faints at the piano wouldn't
+be at all suitable for one of _my_ Evenings, thank you, Virginia."
+
+Lady Virginia did not answer. She evidently had not heard. She never
+listened and never thought of one subject for more than two seconds at a
+time. She used a long-handled lorgnette, but usually dropped it before
+it had reached her eye.
+
+"Oh! and there's something else I wanted to speak to you about. A sweet
+girl, a friend of mine (poor thing!), has lost her parents. They were
+generals or clergymen or something, and she's obliged to do something,
+so she's going in for hats. So sensible and brave of her! She's taken
+the _sweetest_ little shop just out of Bond Street. Do, dear, go and get
+some toques there, for my sake. Won't you?"
+
+"_Some toques?_" repeated Aunt William. "I don't know what you mean.
+Hats are not things you order by the half-dozen. I have my winter's
+bonnet, my spring bonnet which I have got already, a sun-hat for
+travelling in the summer, and so forth."
+
+"I got a beautiful picture-hat from her," said Lady Virginia dreamily.
+"An enormous black one, with Nattier blue roses in front and white
+feathers at the back--- only five guineas. But then she makes special
+prices for me, of course."
+
+"No doubt she does," said Aunt William.
+
+"Of course I can't wear it, my dear," continued Virginia. "I hate to
+attract attention so, and I look too showy in a picture-hat with my fair
+hair. But it was a kindness to the girl. Poor girl!"
+
+Aunt William was boiling over.
+
+"Of course you can't wear it. Do you imagine you can wear the hat you've
+got on now, Virginia?"
+
+"What this? It's only a little flower toque."
+
+"At _our_ age," said Aunt William, "_only_ little flower toques, as you
+call them, should be left to younger people. Oh how much nicer you would
+look, Virginia, in a black or brown silk dress, and a close bonnet with
+strings, say with a chrysanthemum or two, and a few bugles if you like.
+It would be so much more suitable."
+
+"What _is_ a close bonnet?" asked Lady Virginia, trying to concentrate
+her thoughts and not in the least offended.
+
+The arrival of Savile at this moment created a diversion. His air of
+inscrutability and self-restraint was neither more nor less marked than
+usual; but, to the acute observer, it would have been evident that he
+was crammed with suppressed and exciting information.
+
+"You remember my nephew, Virginia? My brother James's only son, you
+know." Aunt William spoke proudly, as if his being an only son were some
+remarkable merit of his own.
+
+"Not at all," murmured Savile indistinctly.
+
+"Oh, is he really? What a darling! I adore children," said Lady
+Virginia, benevolently smiling at him. "And _so_ tall for his age, too!"
+
+"You don't know his age," snapped Aunt William.
+
+"No, I don't; but I can see he's tall--a very fine child. What do you
+learn at school, darling?"
+
+"Oh, nothing much," said Savile, with patience.
+
+Lady Virginia laughed inconsequently.
+
+"What a clever boy he is! Children _are_ so wonderful nowadays! When
+Delestin was only six he played all Chopin's Valses and Liszt's
+Rhapsodies by heart. Of course that's some time ago now, but it shows
+what boys _can_ do."
+
+"By Jove!" said Savile.
+
+"Who's your great friend at school, dear?"
+
+"Oh--I suppose Sweeny's my _greatest_ pal. He's in the eleven," added
+Savile explanatorily.
+
+"Oh, yes! I daresay--a very nice boy too. He has a marvellous likeness
+to you, Mary dear," Lady Virginia said, using the long-handled glass,
+"especially about the--well--the ears--and forehead. Are you musical, my
+dear?"
+
+"I like some of it," said Savile, with a sigh.
+
+"You're like James, too," said Lady Virginia, "and I think I see a look
+of his mother, Mary."
+
+"You never saw her, and you know it," said Aunt William, who always
+tried in vain to pin Virginia down to facts.
+
+"Yes, but that was merely by chance," said Lady Virginia, getting into
+her cloak. "Then I shall expect you, Mary, to come and hear Delestin
+play? Oh, no, I forgot--you said you couldn't. I'm so sorry; but I
+_must_ fly.... I've a thousand things to do. You know my busy life! I'm
+the President of the Young Girls' Typewriting Society, and I have to go
+and see about it. How we poor women ever get through the season with all
+the work we do is more than I can ever understand."
+
+Aunt William became much more cordial at the prospect of her friend's
+departure, and when Virginia had at last fluttered out, after dropping
+the gold bag and the ivory fan twice, Savile said--
+
+"Do you expect _many_ more visitors like that to-day, Aunt William?"
+
+"None like that."
+
+"Well, while you're alone I've got some news to tell you. Sylvia would
+have come herself, but she's engaged--this afternoon."
+
+"Not engaged to be married, I suppose!" said Aunt William, with a sort
+of triumphal archness.
+
+"Yes, you've hit it in once. At least, up to a certain point. It'll be
+all right. But the Governor's a bit nasty--and the fact is, we want you
+to come and see him, and sort of talk him over, you know."
+
+"Savile! Do you mean it? How charming!... But who's the young man--and
+what's the objection?"
+
+Savile thought a moment, and remembered her tinge of snobbishness. "He's
+Sir Bryce Woodville's nephew. Chap who died. I mean, the uncle died.
+It's Woodville, _you_ know!"
+
+"Your father's secretary?"
+
+"Yes, and a rattling good chap, too. Sylvia's liked him for ages, and he
+didn't like to come up to the scratch because he was hard up. Now
+something's turned up. Old Ridokanaki's written him a letter--wants him
+to go into his bank. He'll have three thousand a year. It's only _habit_
+with the Governor to pretend to mind. But a few words with you will
+settle it. I'll tell you more about it later on."
+
+"I _am_ amazed at the news, Savile. He's a very fine young man, but----"
+
+"He's all right, Aunt William."
+
+"But I thought the Greek gentleman with the unpronounceable name was
+madly in love with Sylvia himself? I've often talked it over with your
+father. He and I took opposite views."
+
+"So he was, but he's got some one else now. It's simply _got_ to come
+off. Now _will_ you come and see us?"
+
+"Certainly. When?"
+
+"As soon as possible. I wish you'd come now."
+
+"But this is my Day, Savile! How can I go out on my _Day_?"
+
+"Of course you can. You'll have heaps of other days, but none like
+this--for Sylvia."
+
+Aunt William hesitated, then her intense romantic curiosity got the
+upper hand.
+
+"Savile, I'll come back with you now! Do you think James will listen to
+reason? He never agrees with me. And I don't know yet what to think
+myself."
+
+"Of course he will. You're a brick, Aunt William. I'll tell you more
+about it in the cab. It's as right as rain for Sylvia, or you may be
+pretty certain _I_ shouldn't have allowed it," said Savile.
+
+To get Aunt William to go out on her Day, a thing she had not done for
+thirty years, was so great a triumph that he had little fear of not
+getting her to be on the right side. He knew she always made a point of
+disagreeing with his father on every subject under heaven, so he rubbed
+in Sir James's opposition, and gradually worked on her sentimental side
+until she was almost tearfully enthusiastic.
+
+"How shall I behave? Go right in and tell your father he must
+consent?--or what?"
+
+"Play for safety," said Savile.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+THE TWELFTH HOUR
+
+
+Sir James was extremely annoyed with the weather. In his young days, as
+he remarked with bitterness, spring was spring, and it didn't thunder
+and snow in April. He was prattling pompously of the sunshine in the
+past, when a sudden heavy shower of hail, falling rather defiantly in
+spite of his hints, made him lose his temper. Sir James, looking angrily
+up at the sky, declared that unless it stopped within half an hour he
+would write to the _Times_ about it.
+
+Whether or not this threat had any real meteorological influence, there
+is no doubt that the clouds dispersed rather hastily, the sun hurriedly
+appeared, and the weather promptly prepared to enable Sir James to
+venture out, which he did with a gracious wave of the hand to the entire
+horizon, as though willing to say no more about it.
+
+Sylvia had been as anxious for the thermometer to go up as her father
+himself, for it was several days now since she had seen Woodville alone.
+And he had been nervously counting the minutes until the moment of
+freedom, having, to-day, a stronger reason than ever before to desire a
+quiet talk.
+
+Woodville had expressed some remorse--not much, though considerably more
+than he felt--for what Sylvia called his conduct during their last
+interview, and she meant this morning to forgive him.
+
+"I've only come," said Sylvia, sitting opposite him at the
+writing-table, "because I saw you were _really_ sorry for ... the other
+day. _Are_ you sorry?"
+
+"Awfully."
+
+"_That's_ not very flattering," said Sylvia.
+
+"I wanted you, too, dreadfully this morning," he said eagerly. "I've got
+something wonderful to tell you--to show you."
+
+"Anything dreadful?" she asked, turning pale.
+
+He took out a letter.
+
+"Listen! Since the other day I had made up my mind to go away from here.
+I began to see I couldn't bear it. At least, for a time."
+
+"What!" cried Sylvia, rising to her feet.
+
+"Yes. But you needn't worry. I've changed my mind, darling. And before I
+tell you any more----"
+
+He leant across the writing-table and kissed her softly, and at some
+length.
+
+"Now," he said, "read this letter."
+
+"From the Greek fiend! Is he trying to take you away from me again?"
+
+"No, he's not. Read it aloud."
+
+Sylvia read:--
+
+                                       "'RITZ HOTEL, PARIS.
+
+     "'My dear Woodville,--In the short time since I had the pleasure of
+     seeing you, certain changes have come over my views on many
+     subjects; my future is likely to be entirely different from what I
+     had supposed, and I felt impelled to let you know, before any one
+     else, of the unexpected happiness that is about to dawn for me.'
+
+"Oh, Frank, how long-winded and flowery!"
+
+"Never mind that. It's his style always when he's sentimental. Do go on
+reading."
+
+Sylvia went on. "'I was greatly disappointed at first to know you were
+unwilling to go to Athens. Perhaps, however, it is better as it is.
+Briefly, I have found in la _ville lumiere_ what I had longed for and
+despaired of--a reciprocal affection--that of a young and innocent
+girl--'"
+
+"Sylvia, don't waste time. Go on!"
+
+"'My heart'"--Sylvia continued to read--"'is filled with joy; but I will
+not take up all my letter to you with ecstatic rhapsodies; nor will I
+indulge myself by referring to her beauty, her charm, her Madonna-like
+face and sylph-like form. Her extraordinary affection for me (I speak
+with all humility)--tempered as it naturally was by the modesty of her
+age (she is barely seventeen)--was, I think, what first drew me towards
+her. We are to be married in May. You know that the sorrow of my life
+was that I had never been loved for myself. I have been called a
+successful man, but in my own heart I know that this is the only real
+success I have ever had during fifty-five years. It is certainly a great
+pleasure to think, as I do, that I shall be able to give my Gabrielle
+all (humanly speaking) that she can desire....'"
+
+"Will you stop laughing? You _must_ get through the preliminaries,
+Sylvia!"
+
+"It seems all preliminaries," murmured Sylvia.
+
+"'But, in my happiness, your troubles are not forgotten: and I hope now
+to be able to remove them in all essentials.
+
+"'First, let me ask you to remember me to Miss Sylvia, and to tell her
+that with the deepest respect I now formally relinquish all hopes of her
+hand.'
+
+"Very kind of him! He seems to claim some merit for not wanting to marry
+us both," Sylvia cried.
+
+     "'No doubt you remember my telling you of a post, similar to that
+     which I proposed for you in the bank at Athens, and that might be
+     vacant soon, in London. Since, to please my bride, (who is devoted
+     to her mother), I intend to make my home in Paris, I have made
+     arrangements for you to take that post now, if you will.
+
+     "'Shortly after this epistle a formal note will reach you,
+     explaining all details. You will, I am sure, not refuse me the
+     great pleasure of smoothing a little your path, under the present
+     circumstances--since it is a very dear wish of mine to see you and
+     Miss Sylvia happy.
+
+     "'I foresee no obstacles now to your wishes. Explain to Sir James
+     that I intend to be your best friend, and shall be able, no doubt,
+     to be of great assistance to you if you adopt this career.
+
+     "'At some future date I hope to present to you Mademoiselle de
+     Beaugarde--and looking forward to your reply, I remain,
+
+                                  "'My dear Woodville,
+
+                        "'Yours, with a thousand good wishes,
+
+                                   "'G. RIDOKANAKI.
+
+     "'P.S.--I should have written at greater length, but I am expecting
+     Madame Beaugarde and her daughter, as I am to escort them to see
+     some pictures. You will, therefore, grant me your indulgence for
+     the bold, almost abrupt way in which I have conveyed to you my
+     news. You will make excuses for the happy lover! She has an oval
+     face, with a peach-like complexion. Her eyes resemble sapphires:
+     her teeth are like pearls. Let me hear from you soon.'"
+
+"Now, isn't he a wonderful chap?" asked Woodville. "And the best fellow
+in the world. I always liked him. How gifted he is! He describes people
+in detail, and by the yard, without giving one the very slightest idea
+of their appearance. He has a real genius for platitudes."
+
+"And what an original description! Peach cheeks and sapphire eyes! Fruit
+and jewellery! But I daresay she's a dear, and I forgive him now. And
+Frank, _do_ you realise what this means--to us?"
+
+"I've been realising it since the first post this morning, Sylvia."
+
+"You'll accept it?"
+
+"Naturally. Everything is right, as you said it would be. We'll tell Sir
+James to-day."
+
+"Look here, darling Frank, let me ring up a messenger to send a wire at
+_once_ to accept, so that nothing can come between us!"
+
+"Not just yet," said Woodville.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Savile's only comment when they told him was, "Just like that rotter to
+prefer another alien!" and he immediately wrote brief notes to Chetwode
+and Jasmyn Vere.
+
+Sir James heard the news with real surprise and conventional
+indignation, principally because it was his practice to receive news in
+that way.
+
+He refused his consent, sent Sylvia to her room, and turning round on
+Savile declared that the whole thing was caused by the disgraceful
+idleness of that boy, who ought to be at school. Such long holidays were
+not heard of in his younger days, and did the greatest harm mentally and
+physically to the boys and all their relatives.
+
+The arrival of Aunt William diverted the storm. Sir James became far
+more angry with her for defending the young people than with them for
+requiring defence.
+
+When she had left, he said that perhaps he would take it into
+consideration in a couple of years, if Woodville left the house at once,
+and they neither met nor corresponded in the interval.
+
+At dinner he began to chaff them a little, and said Sylvia always got
+her own way with him.
+
+After dinner, when he was smoking in the library, the desire to say
+"Take her, you dog, and be happy," or words to that effect, was too
+strong for him. He sent for Woodville, consented enthusiastically, and
+from that moment began to believe that with farseeing thoughtfulness he
+had planned her marriage from the very beginning. And he began to look
+forward to the list of political and other celebrities that would appear
+in the papers the day after the wedding.
+
+Of course it was to be a long engagement and a quiet wedding; but
+entirely through the eager impetuosity of Sir James, they were married
+in six weeks, and every one said that in general splendour and
+gorgeousness it surpassed even the wedding of Sir James's elder
+daughter. Savile's attitude as best man was of such extraordinary
+correctness that it was the feature of the ceremony, and even distracted
+public attention from the bride and bridegroom.
+
+
+                         THE END
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's note
+
+
+The following changes have been made to the text:
+
+Page 9: "expert in hand-writing" changed to "expert in handwriting".
+
+Page 12: "I bar him rather" changed to "I bear him rather".
+
+Page 58: "goodlooking young man" changed to "good-looking young man".
+
+Page 96: "Wont you make" changed to "Won't you make".
+
+Page 111: "St.James's" changed to "St. James's".
+
+Page 155: "blue-green Empire teagown" changed to "blue-green Empire
+tea-gown".
+
+Page 159: ""Bertie Wilton?" axclaimed" changed to ""Bertie Wilton?"
+exclaimed".
+
+Page 173: "Saville their only confidant" changed to "Savile their only
+confidant".
+
+Page 218: "in tears and a teagown" changed to "in tears and a tea-gown".
+
+Page 228: "you going to do today" changed to "you going to do to-day".
+
+Page 243: "sooth-sayer is a marvel" changed to "soothsayer is a marvel".
+
+
+
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