"Please, Savile, no violence! Take another cigarette. Of course, the idea is that I must talk to somebody. Perhaps Teignmouth----" "Put the whole thing before him," said Savile. "The beastly part is no one will stand being talked to about things, and everybody hates having the whole matter put before them--unless it's gossip. Then, by Jove, won't they go into details!" Savile controlled his feelings, and said, "Well, here's a romantic story, a lovely girl--young man disinherited----" Chetwode visibly shrank from the explicitness. "All right, old boy. Look here, I see your point--I give you my word I'll try." Savile, terrified at the thought that he might have been a bore, got up again and held out his hand. "When will you let me know?" "As soon as I've seen anybody or done anything that seems to help at all.... Let's see, what's your telephone number?" "I haven't got any telephone number," said Savile, "at least, not on _this_ subject. Won't kill you to wire and let me know when I can see you again." "Good! that's the idea. And look here, Savile, you think I am not going to trouble, I can see that. But you happen to be wrong. I'll fix it up all right." "I thought you would," said Savile. "And we won't talk it over, don't you know, to--a--women or anything. Eh?" "Catch me," said Savile. "Well, I must go out now," said Chetwode. "Can I drop you?" "Think I'll walk," said Savile. They shook hands most cordially. Chetwode went out smiling to himself, and strolled towards the Club. CHAPTER XVIII FELICITY'S ENGAGEMENTS "Is Lady Chetwode at home?" Before Greenstock, who seemed about to give a negative answer, could reply, Wilton went on. "Oh yes, she _must_ be at home; please ask her to read this note, and send me down a verbal answer immediately." "Very well, sir." "I won't get out, Greenstock. I'll just wait in the motor till I get an answer." "Yes, sir." Wilton turned to the chauffeur and said, "How do you think she's looking to-day, Pearce?" The motor had recently been painted green, because Felicity had said it was too compromising to drive with Wilton in a scarlet one. "Never better, sir," said the chauffeur. "You know I _was_ right, Pearce. Green suits her much better than scarlet. In fact, I rather doubt whether you could point me out a case in which I am ever wrong, Pearce. With regard to the motor, I mean, of course." "Oh no, sir." "How do you mean 'Oh no'? Do you mean I'm ever wrong then?" "Oh no, sir." They both looked with suppressed pride at the automobile which was snorting rather impatiently under these personal remarks. Greenstock appeared. "Will you step in, sir?" At the summons Wilton sprang out and ran quickly up into the drawing-room.