"It showed he was thirsty. I don't think he was going to faint away. Still, I suppose he had a drink; and—then—what happened?"
"I hardly like to tell you, dear."
"Go on!"
"I pressed him for his real opinion of me quite frankly, and he said: 'Frankly, I think you're a very pretty woman, and very jolly, but aren't you a bit dotty on some subjects?' Of course I was very much hurt, and said, 'Certainly not about you!' So then he said, 'For instance, you always write that you have something particular to say to me, but you never say it. I left several important appointments this afternoon to come round, and you don't seem to have any news.' I had said it, you see, but he didn't take it in. I was very much offended at his calling me dotty, but he explained afterwards he only meant that I was 'artistic'!"
Felicity went into fits of laughter. "Well, how did it end?"
"I asked him to dinner for next Wednesday, and he said he was going out of town, and didn't know when he would be back. Now tell me, darling Felicity, do you think he is going away to—try and conquer his feelings—or anything of that sort? That is what I should like to think," said Vera.
"No," answered Felicity. "Either it was a lie, because your husband bores him and he didn't want to come to dinner, or else he's really going to Newmarket, and doesn't know when he'll be back."
"Tell me, Felicity. I can bear it.... Then—he does not care about me, and I ought to cut him out of my life?"
"I think he likes you all right, but I really shouldn't worry about him," said Felicity.
"Then I certainly shan't. I am far too proud! How different Bertie Wilton is," she went on. "So amusing, and lively and nice to every one! But he is devoted to you."