"Well, Savile dear, anyhow I advise you to break it off definitely with Dolly. She's only just fourteen now, and it would interfere with her lessons. Besides, I know her mother wants her to go in for Physical Culture during the holidays. What are those exercises--Swedenborgian or something--anyhow, it takes up time. Besides, I somehow feel that that (the affair with Dolly) was more a sort of boy-and-girl fancy. Don't you think so? This, of course, is the great romance of your life. It will probably last for ever. Of course I know it's only a kind of distant worship and adoration, but still----" "How well you know, by Jove! Felicity, I tell you what--I'm not going to think about it any more. I _know_ there's no hope. Is she likely to sing again this season?" "Perhaps." "Oh, Felicity, let me come with you!... No, I won't. I'd rather go alone in the balcony." "We'll see, dear. Now, what's the other trouble?" "Well, I'm rather worried about Sylvia." "Oh, my dear boy, that's a mania of yours! You're always harping on about her marrying Mr. Ridokanaki." "Why shouldn't she?" "Why should she, Savile? It wouldn't amuse her. And Sylvia is very happy at home; the head of papa's house, perfect liberty, and only twenty----" "I know; but do you know I sometimes suspect ... look here. Do you think Woodville--don't you think Sylvia ... likes him?" Felicity sat up with a jerk. "Frank Woodville! That highly-principled, highly-strung, highly-cultivated, intellectual young man? Oh _no_! _Oh_ no! Why he, as papa's secretary, would no more try to----" "Who says he would? She might like him all right, I suppose. Besides, if he _is_ highly cultivated, as you call it, and all that, it's not his fault, is it? He's a good-looking chap all the same. Face facts, I say! and if the truth were known, and every one had their rights, he _may_ be human! You never know!" Felicity laughed, and then said-- "I do hope he's not. It would be so impossible! Rather romantic too, a puritanical secretary with a figure and a profile in love with the pretty daughter of a pompous politician. He teaches her Latin too. Sort of Abelard and Francesca--or something--But oh! I don't believe it." "Abelard! Oh, what rot! Do shut up! Well, remember I've given you a hint, and I don't ask you not to tell--I treat you as an officer and a gentleman." "Don't worry about me," said Felicity, smiling, "I talk so much that I never have time to repeat a single thing about anybody--to the wrong person." "I know. Will you dine with us to-morrow, as Chetwode's out of town?" "No, Savile darling, I can't. I'm dining with Mrs. Ogilvie. You needn't mention it." Savile arranged his tie in the mirror, and said in his slow, impressive way-- "I don't mention things. But the Governor doesn't care for that go-ahead set. And he's not wrong, either." "We're only going to dine at Ranelagh,--to try her new motor, dear," said Felicity coaxingly. "Does Chetwode know?"