-anyhow, it takes up time. Besides, I somehow feel that that
(the affair with Dolly) was more a sort of boy-and-girl fancy. Don't you
think so? This, of course, is the great romance of your life. It will
probably last for ever. Of course I know it's only a kind of distant
worship and adoration, but still----"

"How well you know, by Jove! Felicity, I tell you what--I'm not going to
think about it any more. I _know_ there's no hope. Is she likely to
sing again this season?"

"Perhaps."

"Oh, Felicity, let me come with you!... No, I won't. I'd rather go alone
in the balcony."

"We'll see, dear. Now, what's the other trouble?"

"Well, I'm rather worried about Sylvia."

"Oh, my dear boy, that's a mania of yours! You're always harping on
about her marrying Mr. Ridokanaki."

"Why shouldn't she?"

"Why should she, Savile? It wouldn't amuse her. And Sylvia is very happy
at home; the head of papa's house, perfect liberty, and only twenty----"

"I know; but do you know I sometimes suspect ... look here. Do you think
Woodville--don't you think Sylvia ... likes him?"

Felicity sat up with a jerk.

"Frank Woodville! That highly-principled, highly-strung,
highly-cultivated, intellectual young man? Oh _no_! _Oh_ no! Why he, as
papa's secretary, would no more try to----"

"Who says he would? She might like him all right, I suppose. Besides, if
he _is_ highly cultivated, as you call it, and all that, it's not his
fault, is it? He's a good-looking chap all the same. Face facts, I say!
and if the truth were known, and every one had their rights, he _may_
be human! You never know!"

Felicity laughed, and then said--

"I do hope he's not. It would be so impossible! Rather romantic too, a
puritanical secretary with a figure and a profile in love with the
pretty daughter of a pompous politician. He teaches her Latin too. Sort
of Abelard and Francesca--or something--But oh! I don't believe it."

"Abelard! Oh, what rot! Do shut up! Well, remember I've given you a
hint, and I don't ask you not to tell--I treat you as an officer and a
gentleman."

"Don't worry about me," said Felicity, smiling, "I talk so much that I
never have time to repeat a single thing about anybody--to the wrong
person."

"I know. Will you dine with us to-morrow, as Chetwode's out of town?"

"No, Savile darling, I can't. I'm dining with Mrs. Ogilvie. You needn't
mention it."

Savile arranged his tie in the mirror, and said in his slow, impressive
w