"A few. Some heavy M.P.'s and their wives, and Aunt William, and of course old Ridokanaki."
"Oh, the Greek millionaire,—the banker?"
"Don't call him the banker; it reminds me of The Hunting of the Snark."
Felicity laughed.
"Yes; Mr. Ridokanaki is rather like a sort of Snark, and you and papa are hunting him for Sylvia. Will it come off?"
"Shouldn't think so," said Savile thoughtfully. "He's rather a bore, but he's a good sort. Of course, Sylvia ought to marry him. All the pretty girls are marrying these Anglo-Aliens. He's very keen. But about my affairs—I say, Everett, do take away these fluffy rustling things."
Everett having completed her task, with a stiff smile, and a rainbow of chiffons over her arm, faded away.
Felicity, completely dressed, turned her chair round and put up her absurd little high-heeled shoes.
"Now then, fire away, old boy."
Savile, taking this command literally, stretched out his hand for the cigarettes. Felicity snatched them away.