ylvia and papa."

"All right--or, I know--don't let us go at all!" said Chetwode. He was
now in the hall, and she followed him. "Anything I can do for you,
darling?" Then he added, "Don't move for a minute!" He was admiring her
golden hair against the tapestry, and smiled with the real pride of the
_collectionneur_. "Yes, you must really have your portrait painted,
Felicity," he said. "Sargent's the man, I think--or--well, we'll talk
it over." He went out, and the door banged relentlessly.

Felicity moved back to the library and looked in the little carved
silver mirror that lay on the table. She saw tears gradually stealing
into her beautiful blue eyes, enlarging them, and she grew so sorry for
the lovely little sad face--in fact for herself!--that she hastily put
down the looking-glass, ran upstairs, and rang for her maid to dress her
to go out.

* * * * *

Chetwode completely failed in his mission, as the china-man, not
expecting him to call so soon, had gone out for the day. He strolled
down the Brompton Road, stopping from time to time to look at various
pretty things in little curiosity shops, and then he thought, as a
contrast, he would have a look at the Albert Memorial. But, changing his
mind again, he went a little way into Kensington Gardens. Suddenly, he
thought he recognised two people, rather beautiful people, who were
sitting under a tree, talking together with animation. It was his
sister-in-law, Sylvia, with her little dog, and Woodville. Before they
saw him, Sylvia got up and walked quickly towards the Row with the dog.
Woodville looked after her, and then strolled slowly towards the bridge.
How well the sylvan surroundings suited them! Sylvia was a wood nymph
in a fashionable dress; Woodville, a faun in Bond Street clothes.
Chetwode smiled to himself. Then for a moment he was surprised.... It
seemed odd to see the secretary so far from his usual haunts. Why should
Sylvia sit in Kensington Gardens with him, and then go on alone to the
Row? However, he thought, it wasn't his business. As he walked towards
Knightsbridge, it struck him that he would tell Felicity. She would
understand, and explain. Then he thought he wouldn't tell Felicity. He
had a curious delicate dislike to mentioning anything he had seen
accidentally. He would chaff Sylvia about it when he saw her again....
No, he wouldn't; it would be a shame to make a girl uncomfortable. He
would mention it to Wood