"Naturally, Savile. And if he prefers his horses, and his jockeys, and his bookmakers, and even his old furniture, to taking his own wife to her own father's party----" "Hallo, old girl, don't tell me you haven't everything under the sun you want! Because that would be a bit too thick," said Savile, sitting up. "Who says I haven't?" "No one, if you don't." "I should hope not!" Then Felicity murmured relentingly-- "Dear Chetwode! He's so heavenly in some ways. No, I won't worry and oppose him, it's a fatal mistake. We'll make it up to you later--stay with you on the river in August or something. What price you, dear? What's your trouble?" Savile fumbled a good deal with a tassel, laughed mirthlessly, frowned gloomily, and then said with a jerk: "What price me? No price. It's her. You know." Felicity replied patiently. "You always say that, and you never get any further,--never." "Well, my dear, don't you see--there's two things." "Go on." "What ought a chap to do who,--I've consulted men of the world, and yet I think you know best. You're so celebrated as a confidante." "Well?" said his sister. "What ought a chap to do--who ... oh, well ... if a chap--say a chap has--well--a girl, say, frightfully keen on him (for the sake of the argument), and she's a decent sort of girl, and at the same time the poor chap is frightfully keen on another girl, who is frightfully keen on another chap--who is a very decent chap too, mind you ... what ought he to do?" "Which chap, Savile?" "Oh, don't be so muddle-headed, Felicity! Pull yourself together, can't you? _Me_, of course!" "Oh, you!" "Yes." "You mean Dolly Clive is in love with you" (Savile winced at the feminine explicitness), "and you are in love with some one else, and it's quite hopeless." "I don't quite say that. But there are tremendous difficulties." "Is she married? Oh, I do believe she's married. Oh, Savile! How extraordinary and horrid of you!" "Oh, it's all right, Felicity," said Savile, with a reassuring nod, at which she laughed. "I'm sure it is, dear. But who on earth is it?" Savile took a photograph out of his pocket, and blushingly showed it to his sister, with his head turned away. As she looked at it her face expressed the most unfeigned bewilderment. "Aunt William? But this is very sudden.... Oh, it's some mistake, surely! You _can't_ be in love with Aunt William!" With a howl of fury Savile snatched the portrait from her.