assionate 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