"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 let all the people come dressed as children, or ask some wild animals to look in in the evening?"

Jasmyn threw up his hands in horror.

"My dear Lady Nora, don't make fun of me! No, some rather intelligent people are coming."

"Really? I thought your parties were always very smart!"

"There'll be some people who can talk, don't you know."

"What about?" said Lady Nora.

"Ah! that's the point! Now, I propose that when supper's on there shall be a special supper served at one table for ten in my little octagon room, and _with_ the menu a subject for conversation with each item! It will, of course, not bore people, because, from the programme, they will see there is an ordinary supper-room too, and they can choose!"

"It will be a general conversation, remember; and people aren't very keen on that," said Lady Nora.

"Well, we shall see. So long as you don't disapprove (and one other lady to whom I shall speak of it). I think it's not a bad idea. I shall not have good music, Lady Nora. It isn't a concert--it's a conversazione."

"But you won't have _bad_ music? I can't imagine anything bad in your house," said Lady Nora.

"No, but music that encourages talk. De Valdez once sang at my house--_Everybody_ was there, and they _all_ talked! He got up and said, in the middle of Although, that lovely song, 'Here are five hundred people who want to talk, and only one who wants to sing. The odds are not fair. I give in.' And nothing would induce him to go on. But as he remained and was most agreeable to every one, one could hardly call it the caprice of a spoilt artist. Indeed, I think he was quite right."

Lady Nora sighed. "But how uncomfortable! Well, then, you'd better have the Blue Hungarians and the Red ones too. Those who don't like the one can listen to the other."

He laughed and said, "Bertie's the image of his mother. I shall have a first-rate band and second-rate music."

"Agatha, Mrs. Wilkinson," was delighted at all the plans but said she simply _must_ go to supper with Bobby Henderson, as it would be too marked to be escorted by the host.

As a matter of fact, nothing Agatha did was ever noticed, because she never did anything that was not extraordinary.

"Do I look all right, Chetwode?"

"Quite unnecessarily so," said Chetwode, and he gave her a look, which she recognised as the greatest compliment she ever received.

Her eyes brightened and she blushed.

"And who," said Chetwode, "may I ask, put it into your head to wear an entirely gold dress with your golden hair?"

She hesitated half a second.

"Oh! not the dressmaker? and it wasn't your own idea? I can only think of one other person. Do congratulate Wilton from me on his success as a designer."

"Chetwode! if I did ask him to design it, it was so that you should be pleased with the dress."

He smiled. "Quite so. And I am."

"Oh, won't you come and fetch me?"

"It's quite impossible. How late shall you stay?"

"I'll come back just when you like."

"Oh, enjoy yourself, dear. I'm going to stop at home."

He seemed to have regained the equanimity that for a moment he seemed to have lost.

Driving along, Felicity thought, "Perhaps if Chetwode _could_ be a shade jealous of Bertie, it might be a good thing. Still, that sort of thing is so commonplace. _We_ oughtn't to have to descend to it."

Surely Chetwode, who never went by the opinion of others, who absolutely judged for himself, and for whom general success by no means raised the value of his choice, could not care a shade more for his wife because she was admired by Wilton, and would care less for her if he did not think her incapable of admiring any one but himself.

"Are any of those eternal vulgar theories about love really ever true?"

thought Felicity. Then wasn't Chetwode superior? Of course he was. That was why she loved him, and in wishing him to be an ordinary jealous man, she was wishing him to descend. However, when "Faute des roses"

greeted her (exquisitely played by the Hungarians), and she was sitting in a bower of roses in her gold dress, with her respectfully worshipping and delightfully amusing Bertie, Felicity forgot her anxiety and thoroughly enjoyed herself. She was made much of, and admired; the homage was intoxicating, she was young, and she imprudently gave every one present the impression that she was flirting desperately with Bertie Wilton.

CHAPTER XIX

THE VELVET CASE

Savile, remembering that Chetwode had told him he was going away for 'a week end for ten days', and that Felicity had said he was going away for three days, went to see his sister. He had not received the promised wire from Chetwode, but instead a cordial invitation to lunch at the Savoy, in the course of which he told Savile that the whole thing had been laid before Teignmouth; that Teignmouth was slow but sure; that he was frightfully keen on arranging it, but said it can't be done in three days. Savile forbore to press the matter, and said that he, of course, disliked going back to school under the present circ.u.mstances; but if he could rely on Chetwode and Teignmouth he would only worry _two_ more people. The spirit of emulation that Savile hoped to rouse in his brother-in-law was not observable. But Savile knew him to be a man of his word, and really felt certain of Teignmouth's influence--he had Aunt William and Jasmyn Vere up his sleeve. Aunt William was very rich and very interested in politics, being an ardent member of the Primrose League; Jasmyn Vere was so frightfully good-natured, and so anxious to set people at their ease, that if Savile appeared with a shy request (he smiled to himself as he thought of _his_ being shy of old Jasmyn!) he would probably grant the request if he could. In fact, having seen in the _World_ a paragraph speaking of Jasmyn as "one of the leaders of society, the brilliancy of whose entertainments was only equalled by their delightful originality" had decided Savile on the question.

"A chap," he said to himself, "who has a room arranged on purpose for bright conversation at supper, with the subjects on the menu, and spends thousands on orchids and gardenias for his parties, and admires Mrs.

Wilkinson, and _yet_ is at large, must have some peculiar power! I should have thought he'd got nothing in him; but he's got such a tremendous lot _on_ him and around him, I suppose it does instead."

Thus Savile, lost in these thoughts, rang rather judicially at the house in Park Street that no ordinary house-agent could speak of without emotion as a n.o.ble mansion; others, more genuinely enthusiastic still, called it, with self-restraint, a commodious residence.

In the little blue-striped room that opened out of her bedroom he found Felicity in tears and a tea-gown. He remembered that day he had found Sylvia crying, and congratulated himself; first, that he was not a girl, secondly, that he and not another man had seen them thus grieving.