ts
kicked!"

"Everything is all right," said Felicity, as she smiled and bowed to
some one.

"Why is everything all right? You gave one of your _special_ smiles just
now! Who was it?"

"De Valdez. It's rather jolly of him to have come here to-day. He was
expected at the Spanish Embassy."

"Probably going on afterwards."

"Possibly not," said Felicity.

"I admit I admire De Valdez very much," said Wilton. "Caring for nothing
on earth but music and philosophy, and the kindest-hearted man in the
world, he has been literally hounded into society by admiring women, and
all the fuss about him hasn't spoilt him a bit; he would keep a royal
party waiting for luncheon while he ran down to Bedford Park to spend
the day with an old friend."

"The point is," said Felicity calmly, "that he's a genius."

"Oh, is he? I don't know much about music," said Wilton rather
jealously.

"I know you don't."

"The point is, that he's remarkably handsome," said Bertie.

"Now you're being disagreeable. Of course he's handsome, but that's
_not_ the point."

At this moment De Valdez joined them. Felicity took his arm and went
down to tea.

The boy harpist created wildest enthusiasm; a little later De Valdez
sang (after which nearly every husband present suggested it was time to
go), and, on the whole, the afternoon was as great a success as these
things ever are.

Quite late Bob Henderson arrived, full of tips--straight from the
stable. Vera did not try to detain her lingering guests. Mr. Ogilvie
never appeared on these occasions, but came home to dinner at eight,
cross-questioned Vera, and did not listen to her answers in his usual
amiable manner.

* * * * *

Jasmyn Vere was extremely anxious, as he always was, to have something a
little out of the way for his party. He literally lived for society,
and, in a minor degree, for Agatha. As he was a bachelor, and had
devoted even more time and energy to knowing none of the wrong people
than to knowing all the right ones, a party of his was looked upon as
not a thing to miss, particularly as a decorous originality was always
to be expected.

Lady Nora Wilton, a beauty of the early '80's, was a graceful and still
pretty woman of forty-five; it was probably from her that Bertie had
inherited his good looks and high spirits.

"What _can_ we do just a little original?" Jasmyn had asked her.

"What sort of thing? You don't mean to be American and le