"Oh, yes; but he's having it all differently furnished. He means to buy it, I think. And I'm to have a music-room opening out of my bedroom, in pale green! Won't it be lovely?" "Yes," said Felicity, "lovely. And ... what did you say you thought of Bertie Wilton? There's something I rather like about his face." "Yes, I know what it is--he's very good-looking. Not only that, he might be--well, rather too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't flirt with him, Felicity." "I know you wouldn't, darling." Felicity smiled. "You don't really, I know! It's only fun. Besides, people only love once. You would never care for any one but Chetwode." "Care! I should think not. But Bertie Wilton's amusing. And he knows simply everything. He's a perfectly brilliant gossip. What do you think is the latest thing about the Valettas and Guy Scott?" Mrs. Ogilvie and Bob preferred the restaurant; Wilton accepted by telephone, telegraphing afterwards to know if it was all right. A _tête-à-tête_ dinner on so short an acquaintance with the most fascinating of hostesses seemed to him almost too great a privilege to be real. Afterwards she told his fortune by cards and he told hers by palmistry. "You don't tell me all," she said. "If I told you all--all you are to me--I suppose you would ring for a glass of iced-water again?" said he. "Oh, no, I shouldn't. I am in a very good temper to-night," said Felicity, laughing. She had a telegram announcing Chetwode's arrival by the 9.15. She had not mentioned it. Bertie Wilton looked at her. She seemed rather nervous. He persuaded himself not to go too far again, but it was really rather wonderful that she had, after the iced-water incident, asked him to spend the evening with her. They had music. He had a voice, a way of singing, and a choice of songs that had often been most useful to him in the beginning of his social and sentimental career. But he was surprised to see that while he was singing something about "my dream, my desire, my despair" she was standing in front of the looking-glass making play with a powder-puff as if he wasn't present, and then appeared to be listening at the door. He came from the piano and she thanked him with an absent-minded warmth. Incautiously he said, "It's just what you are, 'My dream.' Will you tell me something? But I shall be in disgrace if I ask." "What is it?" "Will you always be my despair?" "Oh no; oh yes--I mean." Then she said, "There he is!" There was a sound of cabs outside. Then the door opened and Savile came in, while a voice outside with a slight drawl said, "Where are you, Felicity?" Felicity ran out of the room and shut the door. "Extraordinary weather for the time of year," remarked Savile, with a condescending air of putting Wilton at his ease. The young man was smiling, rather uncomfortably for him. "Very," he answered. "No, thanks," to Savile's hospitable offer of a cigarette. "You've been travelling. How delightful."