such a clever thing to say," said
Felicity.

"I trust you don't think it's too early to call."

"Not at all," said Vera, looking terrified.

"The only thing is," said Felicity, "that my friend and I are just going
out."

She stood up.

"Then pray excuse me," said Mr. Newman Ferguson; "I will call a little
later on to-day instead."

"Where did you say you were staying now?" said Felicity.

"I'm at the Savoy at present, but I hope to move very soon," he said,
with a meaning look.

Felicity saw him to the door where he had left his cab, came back, and
stood silently looking at her friend and the bouquet.

"My dear Felicity, there's no doubt he's madly in love with me," said
Vera. "Can you deny it?"

"My dear Vera, he's raving mad," answered Felicity.

"What?" cried Vera.

"Is it possible that you don't see it?"

"But look at that clever letter!" said Vera.

"It's the maddest letter I ever read. Besides, dear, I know about it.
Don't distress yourself. Bertie says he was always eccentric, but
sometimes he's quite all right for years. Then, any sudden excitement,
especially Falling in Love----"

"Then you own he _did_ fall in love with me?"

"Oh, of course, of course! Certainly! No one denies that. But I really
think we ought to write to the Dorfensteins and get them to tell the
Savoy people to look after him. It's very sad. He has rather a nice
manner--nice eyes."

Vera buried her face in her handkerchief.

"Now don't worry, darling," said Felicity affectionately. "Be out when
he calls, and I'm quite sure we shall soon find some one quite sane who
will amuse you just as much."

"Never!" sobbed Vera. "It's just like my luck! Oh, and the books I
ordered, and the new dress. I can never bear to look at them."

"It's a very good thing we found it out," said Felicity.

"But how on earth does Bertie know?"

"He knows everything--about people, I mean--and he's always right. In
fact, he sent you a message to ask you to be very careful, and said he'd
come and see you about it."

"Rather cool! It seems I can't have _any_ secret to myself now," panted
Mrs. Ogilvie.

"Well, you see, dear, you _did_ ask me to get all the information I
could, and after all I only told Bertie you _met_ Mr. Ferguson. He
guessed that he would fall in love with you, and bring you a bouquet
early in the morning, and write you a lot of letters about philosophy."

"How did he know?"

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, dear,