"Yes. Exactly. Happy, but perfectly calm. A woman placed as she is could not possibly look as calm as that if she had a secret purple romance with Chetwode, or with any other man. It just shows--if I may say so--how blind Love is. If this had happened to anybody else, you would be the first to see, on the face of it, that anything like a flirtation between the Lady of the Velvet Case and your husband is one of those hopeless impossibilities that only the wildly imaginative and charming people who have no relation to real life, like yourself, could possibly conceive." Felicity seemed comforted. "You think it utterly impossible?" "Oh, I go further than that. I think it highly improbable. Can you see," continued Wilton, "this gentle, harmless creature, a woman capable of having her portrait painted on porcelain, from a photograph, and framed in crimson velvet, who never in her life had a secret except when she concealed from her husband her real reason for sending the housemaid away in order to give the girl another chance by giving her a good character--can you see _her_, I say, privately slipping this enormous case into Chetwode's small and reluctant white hand just as she was going to church, and saying, 'Keep it for my sake'?" "You make the whole thing so ridiculous, Bertie, I begin to think you're right, but still it's very extraordinary that he did have it." "Our not knowing the reason is not nearly so extraordinary as your explanation." "But I can't wait for the real explanation. Suspense is torture," she said. "But delightful--or there'd be no gambling in the world. Still, if you dislike it, why not telegraph?" Wilton suggested. "Because, you see, if there's nothing in it, I should appear so utterly absurd. And if there was, _is_ it likely that Chetwode would wire and say so?" "Scarcely. You have sparks of real genius, Lady Chetwode, I must say! I never thought of that! The best way would be to make him come back as quickly as possible. Of course, he'd return if you were ill?" "Rather. Besides, I am. Very." "So you are. Then write to that effect." "I think I will, but not yet." She remembered Savile's advice to wait till after dinner. "May I ask," inquired Wilton, "if you're delaying in order to confide in women? This, I know, seems very impertinent of me, but I can't help advising you not. You'd be so sorry afterwards! When you go and tell Vera that it is all right after all, however pleased she is, there'll always be an uncomfortable feeling on your side that perhaps she doesn't quite believe you--that she thinks you're making the best of it. And Miss Sylvia will be so gloriously indignant and jealous for you that she won't do you any good." "I know, Bertie. You are absolutely right. But I never do confide in women--only in men whom I can trust. Like you--and Savile." "Thank you. And how right you are! Then if you're going to delay any action in the matter and put the picture aside, what are you going to do to-day?"