"Now, you're only pretending to be disagreeable. You don't mean it. He has just been explaining to me that he hates the sort of things that amuse _me_,--dances and the opera, and social things. Why, then, should he go with me? He does sometimes, but I know it's an agonising sacrifice. What do you think he is going to do to-night? A really rather dreadful thing." "_I_ don't know." "Dine with me at Aunt William's! A sort of family dinner. Aunt William has asked papa, Sylvia, Savile, and us, and I know just the sort of thing it will be. She has got some excellent match to take Sylvia to dinner, a boring married man for _me_, a suitable old widow or married man's wife for papa, Dolly Clive for Savile (although she isn't out--but then I suppose HE isn't out either, but she spoils Savile), and probably Chetwode will take HER in. Fairly horrible, isn't it? And you know the house. Wax flowers under glass, rep curtains. And the decorations on the table! A strip of looking-glass, surrounded by smilax! And the dinner! Twelve courses, port and sherry--all the fashions of 1860, or a little later, which is worse. Not mahogany and walnuts. Almonds and raisins." "How is it that you're not ill, and unable to go?" said Vera, looking really concerned, and almost anxious. "Because I happen to know that she has asked two or three people to come in in the evening. Bertie Wilton is one. He amuses her." "Bertie Wilton?" exclaimed Vera. "Yes. He's so clever and persevering! He's been making up steadily to Aunt William for several days, so that she might ask him to meet me. At last she has. As he says, everything comes to the man who won't wait." "I wonder she approves of him." "Well, she does in a sort of peculiar way, because he's of a good old family, and hasn't gone into anything--like stockbroking or business of any kind, and she thinks she can find him a nice suitable wife. She thinks Lucy Winter would be very suitable. Aunt William lives for suitability, you know. Isn't it funny of her?" Vera laughed. "Lucy? Why, I took him with Lucy and me to choose a hat, and there wasn't a thing she could wear. They don't get on at all. Lucy likes serious, intellectual men; she says Bertie's frothy and trivial. She wants to marry a great author, or a politician. However, thank goodness, she's left off bothering about Bobby Henderson." Here Vera sighed heavily. "Has Bobby left off bothering about Agatha? That's the point." "_I_ don't know," said Vera. "I don't understand him; we've been having some very curious scenes together lately. I can't think what he means." "He doesn't mean anything at all," said Felicity "and that's what you _won't_ understand. What curious things, as you call them, has he been doing lately?" "Well, he called yesterday by appointment." "_Your_ appointment, I suppose?" said Felicity. "By telephone," said Vera evasively. "And stayed two hours. And at last I took a very strong line." "Oh, good gracious! What were you wearing?"