Savile at lunch was gloomy and taciturn. Absently he had partaken three times of a certain favourite dish, made of chestnuts and cream, repeatedly proffered, with _empressement_ and a sort of respectful sympathy, by Greenstock. Then he pushed his plate away, and said when they were alone-- "Funny! I can't eat a thing! Sylvia says I live on nothing but oranges. Pretty rotten sign, eh? Here's what I've heard about HER." He took out of his purse a neatly-cut-out paragraph from _The Queen_. It stated that Madame Patti had been warmly greeted by all the village of Craig-y-nos, and was about to give an afternoon concert there for the benefit of the poor. "I shan't have another chance to see HER before I go back," said Savile, looking steadily at his sister. She followed his idea in a second. "All right! Poor boy! There's no great harm. Shall I give you the--change"--(to Savile, Felicity always spoke of money as change)--"to run up to Wales and hear her sing, and then come back the same evening? It doesn't really matter what time you arrive home, you see. You can stay with me. I'll tell papa you're going to a concert and I want you to stay with me." Savile was nearly purple with joy. "Would you really? What bricks girls can be!" He shook hands with her with intense self-restraint, and murmured, "I shan't forget this, old girl." Felicity completed the arrangements, and Savile left, a very happy boy. At three o'clock Felicity, in her wonderful orchid-mauve tea-gown, was conversing pathetically with Jasmyn Vere, one of the habitués of what her friends called her sentimental bureau. He was not one of her favourite clients. He was egotistical, and his mania for Agatha was becoming rather a bore. Agatha was a plain, muscular, middle-aged widow who drove him to distraction by her temper and her flirtations. Felicity only stood it at all because he sang and played beautifully, imitated popular actors in his lighter moments, and gave amusing dinners at restaurants. "What would you have done?" he said. "By mistake, Agatha posted this letter to me!" He took out of a pale grey morocco case a note with "Stanhope Gate" and a large "A" on it in scarlet and black. She read-- Dear Bob, Excuse rush. All rubbish about Jasmin. He's a hopeless idiot, but a good old sort. Mind you fetch me in time for Lingfield Races to-morrow and put me on to a good thing. Yours, AGATHA. Felicity handed it back. "Just fancy, Lady Chetwode! I confronted her with this. She had put it in the wrong envelope and sent a note meant for me to Captain Henderson. She only roared with laughter. I broke it off finally and she said I should probably break it on again next day." "And did you?"