Mr. Wilton could not have been quite so depressed, really, for after flying off in the adored motor to the Gaiety and the Carlton on urgent matters of business, he went home and looked a very long time at the little Romney quite cheerfully. He found himself beaming so markedly in the mirror over his button-hole and white waistcoat when dressing, that it suddenly struck him both the smile and the button-hole were overdone. They were triumphant, and triumph was vulgar (and premature). He removed them both, and went out with a suitable tinge of gentle restrained melancholy, at once very becoming, respectful, and, he trusted, interesting. He knew he had not lost much ground by his boldness at his first visit. A woman can pardon a moment of audacity more easily than a moment of misplaced respectful coldness. The one may be an attack on her dignity, but the other is a slight to her charm. And Felicity had such pretty manners; there was a touch of formality always with all her gaiety that left a dashing young man in doubt. It was certainly an interesting doubt. * * * * * "I never met any one quite so definite in my life as that young man," said Felicity as she ate her toast, holding the _Daily Mail_ upside down. She and Savile were sitting rather late over a somewhat silent breakfast. He appeared rather absent-minded and replied to her remark. "Yes, she was perfectly gorgeous, she looked magnificent. (Pass me the toast, old girl. Thanks.) I say, she looked at me!" "He said such peculiar things. He's different from other people, certainly," said Felicity argumentatively. "A really brilliant talker. It's so rare." "No wonder she was called the Nightingale! Thanks very much. Don't talk to me about Jenny Lind." "I wasn't. You see he's rather lonely and unhappy, after all, you know, under all that cynicism and rattling. Every one has two sides to their character (I believe in Browning up to a certain point)--one to face the world with, and the other to show." "As to Clara Butt, or any of these newfangled people, that's all rot! I tell you straight, I don't believe it," said Savile. "You're quite right, dear. One can't deny that he's amusing. There's something so ready about him, and he's so kind and good-hearted as well as clever. He has personality. That's the word." "Yes, she's a ripping, glorious creature! Oh, it is a pity she married again before I knew her! And a Swede too! But still, that's her business...." "Of course I told him not to call again until I wrote. There's a good deal in him--when you know him better, you know." Suddenly Savile looked up and said-- "I say, Felicity, what are you doing to-night?" "I don't know, I haven't thought of it." "Chetwode not turning up yesterday you were disappointed." "I know I was. And, yet--look at this letter!" she showed him another of her husband's long elaborate love-letters.