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