"I can't think," she said dreamily.
"I'm certain I met you in a previous existence," continued the young man.
"What a good memory you must have, Mr. Wilton! It's as much as I can do to remember the people I meet in this existence. I believe I saw you in Mrs. Ogilvie's box at Madame Butterfly."
"I know, I saw you from there. I was rooted to the spot—I believe that's the right expression, though it sounds rather agricultural—while at the same time you might have knocked me down with a feather! It's really true, you might. But I know you wouldn't have, you're far too good and kind."
"I don't think I had any feathers with me," said Felicity.
Bertie went on. "But this life is so short.—Do you think it's worth it?—(Do have some mayonnaise.)—I mean the kind of thing one does—waiting, waiting—at last asking, for instance, to call on your day—only meeting in throngs—perhaps not getting a chance, for months, to tell——"
"I suppose life is rather long, isn't it?" Felicity said, as a concession.
"Then I may come and see you the day after to-morrow?" he asked.
"Not till the day after to-morrow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why wait so long?"
"At what time?" he persisted, smiling.