know you wouldn't have, you're far too
good and kind."

"I don't think I _had_ any feathers with me," said Felicity.

Bertie went on. "But this life is so short.--Do you think it's worth
it?--(Do have some mayonnaise.)--I mean the kind of thing one
does--waiting, waiting--at last asking, for instance, to call on your
day--only meeting in throngs--perhaps not getting a chance, for months,
to tell----"

"I suppose life _is_ rather long, isn't it?" Felicity said, as a
concession.

"Then I may come and see you the day after to-morrow?" he asked.

"Not till the day after to-morrow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why wait
so long?"

"At what time?" he persisted, smiling.

"You may call next Monday--at five. Not this week."

"That's impossible. I can't. It's too dreadful. I can't wait till
Monday, I can't.... Well, let me come on Tuesday, then?"

"_I_ see. You're particularly engaged on Monday. After all, why trouble?
There are so many people for you to call on!"

"If I might call to-morrow, ONCE, I'll never be engaged again! I'll
never call on any one else during the whole of my natural life."

"All right," she said absently. "Call to-morrow, ONCE, as you say. Not
that I ever heard of any one calling twice the same day, at least not
the first day."

"Oh, Lady Chetwode, how kind of you! Did you say five? Can't you make it
half-past four?"

"Very well."

"Won't you make it three? I beg your pardon. I'll walk up and down in
front of the house strewing flowers from three till half-past four and
then come in, may I? And will there be crowds of people there?"

"Well, you haven't given me much time," said Felicity. "I'll try to get
up a party by to-morrow, if you wish it."

"How can you be so unkind! Do you think me very pushing--and vulgar?"

"Very. No, only vulgar."

"At any rate, I'm sincere. It's like Tristan and Ysolde; at least, it's
like Tristan. You can't look me straight in the eyes and tell me I'm not
sincere!"

Felicity looked; and was quite satisfied.... How hard it was that
Chetwode was not there for her to tell him all about the conversation
going home! This thought vexed her so much that she became absent and
lost spirit to keep it up.

Mr. Rivers had promised to send the red-haired girl, who had fallen
hopelessly in love with him, his latest book. He had arranged to take
her and her mother to a concert at the Queen's Hall the following Sunday
afternoon.

Roy Beaumont was the centre of a cro