"I should like to immensely, as you know only too well, Lady Chetwode, but perhaps I'd better not. My bank-holiday manners might bore you." "How fickle you are. Come along," she commanded. He had just been on his way, he said, to an Exhibition of Old Masters to see if there was anything there like the little Romney he had at Half Moon Street that was so like her. So they drove to the New Gallery together. "I was in the depths of despair when I met you. So much so that I was trying to drown my sorrows in gossip," said Mr. Wilton. "And I am feeling rather sad," said Felicity; "if we are both horribly depressed perhaps we shall cheer each other up." "Ah, but I was depressed about you, and you were depressed about some one else. I wonder who it is." "Guess," she said. "About some one who isn't here? How extraordinary of him not to be here! Perhaps that's why you like him so much. Perhaps it's very clever--with a person like you--to be never there! Perhaps it's the only way to make you think about him!" "What do you mean by a person like me?" "You are right. There is no one like you. Anyhow, it's a cleverness I could never pretend to. I know I should be always there, or thereabouts. At all risks! Yes, all! I always say so." The New Gallery certainly did seem to raise their spirits. They sat there for a long time exchanging ideas and avoiding the pictures in a marked manner. Felicity had nothing whatever to do that evening, which she had intended to spend with her husband. Savile, who was staying with her, wouldn't be back from Craig-y-nos till heaven knew when. Oddly enough, Mr. Wilton also had no engagement that evening. "So much so," he said, that he had taken a large box at the Gaiety all by himself, to go and see that new thing. Felicity, oddly enough--it was the first night--had not seen the piece. He advised that she should. Then she would have to dine all alone at home while poor Mr. Wilton was going to dine in lonely solemnity at the Carlton. Matters were adjusted so far that she agreed to meet him at the restaurant on condition he made up a party. "Ask Vera Ogilvie and Captain Henderson. Perhaps the horrid noise and vulgarity, and your society, may brighten me up," she said consolingly, "or at least divert my thoughts." He sincerely hoped so. Much telephoning at the Club resulted in a promise from Bob and Mrs. Ogilvie to come too, so all was well. But Felicity dressed for dinner in quite an irritable frame of mind, and nearly cried because she accidentally broke a fan Chetwode had given her.