"Oh!" she said again to herself. "Why, good gracious, I'm miserable! I've put off everything to-day. The worst of it is I can't do anything Chetwode wouldn't like, because he likes everything I do."
She got back into the carriage, and told the coachman to drive to Mrs. Ogilvie's. Poor Vera! She was unhappy too. On her way she met F. J. Rivers walking with the red-haired girl, so she felt sure that Lucy Winter was no longer a thorn in the flesh to Vera. And possibly Vera was very happy to-day! So Felicity wasn't in the mood for her.
She drove to the Park instead (she had put aside all engagements because Chetwode was coming home), and was thoughtful. Suddenly she caught sight of Bertie Wilton chattering to another boy by the railings. He bowed very formally. She stopped the carriage and beckoned to him.
"Would you like to come for a drive?" she said in her sweetest, lowest tone.
"I should like to immensely, as you know only too well, Lady Chetwode, but perhaps I'd better not. My bank-holiday manners might bore you."
"How fickle you are. Come along," she commanded.
He had just been on his way, he said, to an Exhibition of Old Masters to see if there was anything there like the little Romney he had at Half Moon Street that was so like her. So they drove to the New Gallery together.
"I was in the depths of despair when I met you. So much so that I was trying to drown my sorrows in gossip," said Mr. Wilton.
"And I am feeling rather sad," said Felicity; "if we are both horribly depressed perhaps we shall cheer each other up."
"Ah, but I was depressed about you, and you were depressed about some one else. I wonder who it is."