So depressed had he seemed that evening that Sylvia had played "Home, Sweet Home" to him five or six times. It made him miserable, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and he was feeling altogether rather cynical and bitter when he got Dolly's little note. He had heard nothing more of Chetwode, and intended to see Jasmyn Vere before he left; there was only another week before the end of his holidays. Should he be cool to Dolly? or not let her know how he felt about the fancy ball? As soon as he arrived he thought she looked different. The powder had been imperfectly brushed out of her hair; also she had been crying. She greeted him very gently. She wore a pretty white dress and a pale blue sash. "I suppose you've been very happy these holidays?" said Dolly. "Oh, I don't know! I've had a great deal to--to see to," said Savile. "I suppose you see a great deal of The Other Girl?" said Dolly. Considering that he had only been once to Wales to hear his idol sing at a concert, there was a certain satisfaction in giving Dolly to understand that he hadn't really had half a bad time; so he smiled and didn't answer. "Is she grown up?" asked Dolly. Savile was cautiously reserved on the subject, but seemed to think he might go so far as to say she _was_ grown up. "Did you have fun last night?" he then asked. "No. I was simply miserable." "Why?" "I kept the cotillon for Robert, though he hadn't exactly asked for it, and when the time came the girl of the house, who is eighteen, actually danced it with him!" "Hope you didn't show you cared." "No, I didn't; but I danced with a lot of stupid little boys, and I was so bored! Besides, I _hate_ Robert. Wasn't it mean of him? He went to supper with this grown-up girl, who was awfully amused at his foreign accent, and he behaved as if _I_ was just a child, a friend of his little sister Thérèse. Now, do you think, Savile, as a man of the world, that I ought ever to speak to him again?" "When's he going away?" asked Savile. "Next week; at the end of the holidays." "If you cut him dead as he deserves," said Savile, "it's treating him as if he mattered. Of course, you _really_ showed you were offended?" "Well--I suppose I did. You see, his head was quite turned by these old grown-up girls making a fuss about him." "What a rotter!" said Savile kindly. "Well, do you still like him?" "No; I simply hate him, I tell you," said Dolly. "Then don't bother about him any more." Savile forbore to say, "I told you so!" He was however naturally gratified. "What I should like," said Dolly candidly, "would be to be able to tell Thérèse--who would tell Robert--that I'm engaged to _you_!" "Well, tell her so, if you like." "Oh, what a brick you are! It's not very truthful though, is it?" Savile said that didn't matter with foreigners. "It is a pity," Dolly murmured, with a sigh, "that it can't _be_ true!" "Yes--isn't it?" said Savile. "After all," said Dolly, "you're not exactly _engaged_ to the other girl."