tting the last touch to her
veil in front of the mirror. "Nice boy! You're just what I wanted. Come
out with me!"

It was about twelve o'clock, a lovely warm morning. The first hum of the
season was just beginning, like the big orchestra of London tuning up.
There seemed a sort of suppressed excitement in the air. People of
average spirits appeared unusually happy; the very highly strung seemed
just a little wild; their eyes dancing, their tread lighter, and laughs
were heard on the smallest provocation. Certainly the vision that met
Felicity in the mirror was exhilarating enough. Dressed in the softest
of blues, with a large brown hat on her golden hair, she looked like a
pastel--a combination of the vagueness, remoteness, and delicacy of a
Whistler with the concrete piquancy of a sketch in _L'Art et La Mode_.

Savile, however, showed none of the intoxicating effect of a gay London
morning. He seemed more serious, more self-controlled, more correct even
than usual.

"Where's Chetwode?" he asked.

"Oh, he's just going out, dear, I think. Do you want him? Shall I ring?"

"No; I shouldn't ring. What's the point of that except to delay my
seeing him? No; I want to see him, so I'll go and look for him, and
perhaps go out with him. I suppose you're driving, and don't need me?"

"_Need_ you? Oh no, darling; not exactly. Only I thought it would be fun
to go out and look at the people in the Row--and laugh at them. Besides,
I always drive down Piccadilly and Bond Street when I have a new hat, to
find out whether it suits me. It's such fun. I can always tell."

"Frightfully comic, no doubt, but I've got something more important to
think about this morning."

"What a bad temper you're in, Savile! Anything wrong, darling?"

"Just like a girl!" said Savile. "I never _yet_ showed any woman I had
something to do that she didn't say I was in a bad temper."

Felicity laughed. He went to the door and added--

"Oh, by the way, don't trouble to give my love to Wilton."

She made a rush for him, and he ran out of the room.

He found Lord Chetwode, as usual, in the green library, not reading the
newspapers, and reposefully smoking. Savile accepted a cigarette and sat
down.

"Thought you were going out?" said Savile.

"Yes, so did I. But why go out? It's all right here. Besides, I _am_
going out. No hurry."

"Good," said Savile, and they smoked in silence.

"You're not stopping in town long, are you?" said Savile.

"No,