ely 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