"'Dearest Lady Chetwode, you haven't forgotten, I am sure, that you promised to see me at three to-morrow. I come to you with my tears. You are the greatest adviser and consoler in all heart troubles. Of late I have been enamoured of sorrow. But for your wonderful "Bureau de Consultation Sentimentale," where should we poor sentimentalists be! Agatha has been simply brutal to me lately. I can find no other word. I look forward to pouring my grief into your shell-like ear. I will bring my new song, "Cruel as the Grave."' How cheering! Jasmyn Vere is perfectly absurd about Agatha. He's a bore, anyhow. "'Dear old girl; I'm coming to lunch to-day. Everything is rather rotten. I have news of HER. Your aff. brother Savile.' "'Darling Felicity, be a perfect angel and let my maid see your mauve tea-gown. I know you are so good-natured or I wouldn't dare to ask. I am very anxious about HIM. Oh, why are men always the same? I found out that the wretch instead of being ill, the other day, had taken that awful Lucy Winter to a picture-gallery. What a girl! All red hair and eye-glasses. Let me see you soon. Your devoted friend, Vera Ogilvie.' I am sure Vera needn't worry. Lucy Winter was evidently wild about F. J. Rivers last night. I must tell her. What stupid letters! Oh! here's a new handwriting. "'98 Half Moon Street, 2 o'clock a.m.--Dear Lady Chetwode, I should be counting the minutes till 4.30, but they pass too slowly to be counted. It's thirteen hours and a half, anyhow. I can't believe I shall really see you again. How eternal yesterday was! Why do the gods follow each feast day with a fast? By the way, I have a little Romney here so marvellously like you that you really ought to see it.'" Felicity smiled. "Steady! Rather a nice handwriting. 'Sincerely yours, Bertie Wilton.' Very promising. 'P.S. I have left a long space between the lines so that you should read between them.' Everett, I'll wear my tailor-made dress this morning and for lunch. The mauve tea-gown at four. I'm only going to the theatre to-night. Let me see, what is it? Oh! the St. James's. The white _crêpe de chine_. Then, remind me to wire to the Creepers on the evening of their afternoon to say I have a chill. Have some gardenias and lilies for the drawing-room, and let me see them. There's the telephone! I suppose Chetwode has rung me up again." Then followed a one-sided conversation through the telephone, which was fixed by the side of the Louis Quinze bed. "Yes, darling.... Oh, all right.... Didn't he?... I say, you might come back soon.... I really shouldn't bother about that screen.... What?... I said screen, not scream.... We have heaps more than we want already.... Oh! and ever so many people are coming this afternoon.... A perfectly new young man.... What?... Oh, not bad!... Safety in numbers?... Even if you take the numbers one at a time?... Good-bye."