"Chetwode," said Felicity, "is one of those very English men who would never own they're jealous unless things came to extremities, which, of course, naturally, they never would." "Look here, you're making a fool of yourself," said Savile. "You're making yourself miserable over nothing at all." He stood up. "Don't do _anything_ till after lunch, perhaps not till this evening. You've just had a bit of a shock. You'll find you're wrong. Telephone when you want me." He kissed her and went away. Felicity closed the velvet case. She then dressed very beautifully to go out, but when it came to putting on her hat she couldn't. It requires fairly good spirits to put on a modern hat and veil. She thought she would go downstairs and think. Then she saw Bertie's green motor at the door. She hesitated a moment about letting him come in; then she thought that she would tell him about it, and according to how he behaved, would test him once for all. If he didn't do exactly the right thing, she would never see him again. As Wilton came in, all the fluent conversation and compliments, the gossip and jokes he had been saving up to tell her, died away on his lips. He saw she had been crying. He sat down further away than usual, and said-- "Don't tell me if you'd rather not. I'll go away, shall I? I'm quite sure you're not in the mood for me." She said, "No, don't go." There was a moment's silence. "What was the party like last night at the Harpers?" she then asked. "I haven't the slightest idea," he answered. "But you must have been there? I didn't tell you I'd changed my mind about going. I meant to, and then at the last minute something rather dreadful happened, and I stayed at home." "Yes, I'm almost sure I was there," said Wilton thoughtfully. "I think I must have gone if I expected to see you. But I don't remember anything about it. I must look in the _Morning Post_ and see if I'm in the list of guests. I'm afraid you think I'm not the sort of friend to tell anything serious to, but really, Lady Chetwode, you're wrong there. If there was anything on earth that I could do----" "It's something so annoying, so horrid," she said. Her voice was trembling. "Tell me." He looked so genuinely unhappy for her sake that, not being of the disposition that conceals its sorrows from the sympathetic, Felicity of course told him all about it. He waited a minute, pale with interest, and then said-- "I appreciate your telling me this. But, of course, the whole trouble is entirely imaginary. Oh, I know that doesn't make it any better for the moment; but it's more evanescent." "Imaginary? Why do you think that?"