Savile, however, showed none of the intoxicating effect of a gay London morning. He seemed more serious, more self-controlled, more correct even than usual.
"Where's Chetwode?" he asked.
"Oh, he's just going out, dear, I think. Do you want him? Shall I ring?"
"No; I shouldn't ring. What's the point of that except to delay my seeing him? No; I want to see him, so I'll go and look for him, and perhaps go out with him. I suppose you're driving, and don't need me?"
"Need you? Oh no, darling; not exactly. Only I thought it would be fun to go out and look at the people in the Row—and laugh at them. Besides, I always drive down Piccadilly and Bond Street when I have a new hat, to find out whether it suits me. It's such fun. I can always tell."
"Frightfully comic, no doubt, but I've got something more important to think about this morning."
"What a bad temper you're in, Savile! Anything wrong, darling?"
"Just like a girl!" said Savile. "I never yet showed any woman I had something to do that she didn't say I was in a bad temper."
Felicity laughed. He went to the door and added—
"Oh, by the way, don't trouble to give my love to Wilton."