"Oh, good gracious! What were you wearing?"
"My yellow gown—and the amber beads; it was quite late and the lights—pink shades—were turned on—or else it would have been too glaring, you know, dear."
"What was your strong line?" said Felicity.
"I suddenly said to him, like some one in a play, 'Do you dislike me, Captain Henderson?'"
Felicity began to laugh. "What a fine speech! What did he say?"
"He answered, 'If I did, I shouldn't be here.' After that—not directly after—he said, 'You look all right in yellow, Mrs. Ogilvie.' Do you think that shows great admiration—or not?"
"I've heard more passionate declarations," said Felicity impartially. "It's the sort of thing Savile would say to me. What else did he talk about?"
"Oh, about horses and things, and the new play at the Gaiety, and then I said, 'It's rather a tragic thing for a woman to say, perhaps, but I'm sure you don't care a bit for me, so perhaps you'd better not call any more.'"
"What on earth did he say to that?" said Felicity.
"I'll tell you the exact truth, dear," Vera answered. "He got up and walked round the room, and then said, 'I say, would you think it too awful if I asked for a drink?' What do you think that showed?"