She sought compensation by being in a continual state of vague enthusiasm about some one or other, invariably choosing for the god of her idolatry some young man who, for one reason or another, could not possibly respond in any way. Yet she was always very much admired, except by the objects of her own Platonic admiration. This gave a certain interest to her life; and her other great pleasure was worshipping and confiding in her friend Felicity. "Not the personal note!" repeated Mrs. Ogilvie, as if amazed. "I? I'm nothing if not original! Why, I actually copied that extraordinary gown we saw at the Gymnase when we were in Paris, and I wore it last night. It was a good deal noticed too----" "Oh, yes, you wore it; but you'd copied it. That's just the point," said Felicity. "You can't become original by imitating some one else's peculiarities. The only way to be really unusual is to be oneself--which hardly anybody is. I can't see, though, why on earth you should wish it. It's much nicer to be like everybody else, I think." "Oh, that you can know from hearsay only, dear," said Vera. "Your husband's come back, hasn't he?" she added irrelevantly. "Yes. Now, there _is_ an unusual man, if you like!" said Felicity. "He has no pose of any sort or kind, and he hasn't the ordinary standard about anything in any way, but likes people really and genuinely on their _own_ merits--as he likes things--not because they're cheap or dear!" "It seems to me so extraordinary that a racing man who is more or less of a sportsman should think little ornaments matter so much! I mean, should worry about china, and so on." "It is hereditary, dear," said Felicity calmly. "One of his ancestors was a great collector, and the other wasn't--I forget what he was. I _think_ a friend of James I, or something military of that sort." "I'm afraid Chetwode's rather a gambler--that's the only thing that worries me for _you_, dear," said Vera. "What do you mean by that?" said Felicity. "Well ... I mean I shouldn't mind my husband attending sales and bringing home a lot of useless beautiful things.... At Christie's you know where you are to a certain extent ... but at Newmarket you don't." "Chetwode," said Felicity, "isn't a gambler in the ordinary sense. He never plays cards. Little pictures on paste-board fidget him, he says; he loathes Monte Carlo because it's vulgar, and he dislikes roulette and bridge. He's only a gambler in the best sense of the word--and that's a very fine sense!" "Oh dear, you _are_ so clever, Felicity! What _do_ you mean?" "Isn't every one worth anything more or less of a gambler? Isn't going to a dinner-party a risk--that you may be bored? Isn't marriage a lottery--and all that sort of thing? Chetwode is prepared to take risks. That's what I admire about him!" "He certainly stays away a great deal," said Vera.