He had chosen every detail of the house in Park Street with a patience worthy of his passion. In the bedroom, especially, not a concession was made, not a point stretched. All was purest Louis-Quinze. But in spite of this, and amidst all her tapestry and old French furniture, Felicity had a very contemporary air. About everything was the recent look characteristic of the home of a lately married couple. The room looked as if it had been decorated the day before for a twentieth-century Madame de Pompadour. But, if the background was almost archæological, the atmosphere was absolutely modern. In this incongruity was a certain fascination. Though the bridal freshness still lingered, a more wilful element was also observable. Invitation-cards, race-cards, the _Daily Mail_, magazines, English and French novels, and cigarettes were freely scattered about, and an expert would have seen at a glance that the dresses lying in every direction could not have formed part of any trousseau. They had obviously been chosen with (or against) the advice of Lord Chetwode. Savile sat down on a pink curved sofa, and said definitely-- "Look here, Felicity, I want to speak to you." "Yes, darling?" "Does Chetwode know what's going to win the Cambridgeshire?" "How can he know, darling? Would it be fair? Of course he has some vague _idea_. Candid Friend he said was the favourite. He says it's a certainty. But _his_ certainties! (Everett, look out. You've been overdoing the waving lately. Remember how careful I have to be not to look like a wax-doll in a hair-dresser's shop ... with _my_ complexion)! Go on, Savile,--what's the party going to be like?" "Like nothing on earth, my dear, as usual. One of the governor's baffling entertainments." "Well, I don't care what people say, Savile! I think papa's parties are the greatest fun one can get anywhere. It's a wonderful mixture,--a sort of Russian salad. How exciting it is, for instance, never being quite sure whether one is going to be taken to dinner by--Lord Rosebery, or--Little Tich!" "As it happens, my dear, they've both refused," said Savile ironically. "Oh, Savile, don't be funny when I've no time to laugh. Do you deny papa's peculiar talent for celebrities? Is De Valdez coming?" "The Spanish composer? Oh, rather! He's coming over about his new opera. He's all right. At least, I bear him rather, but girls like him." "And who will be the great card this time, Savile?" "Of course, Roy Beaumont, the inventor." "What on earth's he invented?" "Himself, I should think. He's only about twenty-one. Roy's a capital chap, really. The only thing is, he wears hats that he thinks suit him. Otherwise he dresses rather well, for a dandy." "Why on earth shouldn't his hats suit him?" said Lady Chetwode in surprise.