As if only then conscious of her audience, Felicity looked up, and both the other women noticed the expression that flashed across her face before she took the proffered hand. It seemed compounded of triumph, challenge, and something else. Mary again felt uncomfortable, and Constance's quick brain signaled a warning. “Surely not getting into mischief, are you, Felicity?” she mentally questioned, and instantly began to east about for two and two to put together. “Wonderful!” Stefan was saying. “You surely must have wings--great, butterfly ones--only we are too dull to see them. You were exactly like one of my pictures come to life.” He was visibly excited. “Husband disposed of, available lovers unattractive, asks me to drive her out here; that's one half,” Constance's mind raced. “Wife on the shelf, variable temperament, studio in town; and that's the other. I've found two and two; I hope to goodness they won't make four,” she sighed to herself anxiously. Mary meanwhile was thanking Miss Berber. She noticed that the dancer was perfectly cool--not a hair ruffled by her efforts. She looked as smooth as a bird that draws in its feathers after flight. Stefan was probably observing this, too, she thought; at any rate he was hovering about, staring at Felicity, and running his hands through his hair. Mary could not be sure of his expression; he seemed uneasy, as if discomfort mingled with his pleasure. They had had a rare and lovely entertainment, and yet no one appeared wholly pleased except the dancer herself. It was very odd. Constance looked at her watch. “Now, Felicity, this has all been ideal, but we must be getting on. I 'phoned James, you know, and we are lunching there. I was sure Mrs. Byrd wouldn't want to be bothered with us.” Mary demurred, with a word as to Lily's capacities, but Constance was firm. “No, my dear, it's all arranged. Besides, you need peace and quiet. Felicity, where are your things? Thank you, Mr. Byrd, in the sitting-room. Mary, you dear, I adore you and your house--I shall come again soon. Where are my gloves?” She was all energy, helping Felicity with her veil, settling her own hat, kissing Mary, and cranking the runabout--an operation she would not allow Stefan to attempt for her--with her usual effervescent efficiency. “I'd no idea it was so late!” she exclaimed. As Felicity was handed by Stefan into the car, she murmured something in French, Constance noticed, to which he shook his head with a nervous frown. As the machine started, he was left staring moodily after it down the lane. “Thee is earlier than I expected,” little Mrs. Farraday said to Constance, when they arrived at the house. “I am afraid we shall have to keep thee waiting for thy lunch for half an hour or more.” “How glad I shall be--” Stefan turned to Mary, half irritably--“when this baby is born, and you can be active again.”