"Yes, that's all very well, but it was a liberty. It implies that I cannot provide you with all that you require. He must learn better." Mr. Wilton firmly removed the plover's egg and placed it on the next table, at which Rivers and the red-haired girl were still chattering volubly. Rivers immediately brought it back as lost property, courteously presenting it to Felicity on a silver salver. "This is becoming unbearable! I shall have to write to the _Times_." Wilton gave the egg to a waiter and a furious glance at Rivers, and then sat down again. He was remarkably good-looking with his sparkling blue eyes and mischievous expression, and Felicity glanced at him with approval. He would do very well--for the evening. He was quite worth powder--and shot. At least, he was, to her, a perfect stranger, and there was a great dearth of spring novelties at the party to-night. "I've been waiting for you for years," said Bertie Wilton in a soft, low, impressive voice. "Fancy! How patient of you!--How did you know it was me?" "Oh, instantaneous-sympathy, I suppose." "On your side, do you mean? I should call it telepathy, or perhaps--conceit." "Call it what you like. But how is it you're so wonderful? Tell me that." "I can't think," she said dreamily. "I'm certain I met you in a previous existence," continued the young man. "What a good memory you must have, Mr. Wilton! It's as much as I can do to remember the people I meet in _this_ existence. I believe I saw you in Mrs. Ogilvie's box at _Madame Butterfly_." "I know, I saw you from there. I was rooted to the spot--I believe that's the right expression, though it sounds rather agricultural--while at the same time you might have knocked me down with a feather! It's really true, you might. But I know you wouldn't have, you're far too good and kind." "I don't think I _had_ any feathers with me," said Felicity. Bertie went on. "But this life is so short.--Do you think it's worth it?--(Do have some mayonnaise.)--I mean the kind of thing one does--waiting, waiting--at last asking, for instance, to call on your day--only meeting in throngs--perhaps not getting a chance, for months, to tell----" "I suppose life _is_ rather long, isn't it?" Felicity said, as a concession. "Then I may come and see you the day after to-morrow?" he asked. "Not till the day after to-morrow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why wait so long?" "At what time?" he persisted, smiling. "You may call next Monday--at five. Not this week." "That's impossible. I can't. It's too dreadful. I can't wait till Monday, I can't.... Well, let me come on Tuesday, then?" "_I_ see. You're particularly engaged on Monday. After all, why trouble? There are so many people for you to call on!" "If I might call to-morrow, ONCE, I'll never be engaged again! I'll never call on any one else during the whole of my natural life."