uld 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