ay--

"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