"Guess," she said.
"About some one who isn't here? How extraordinary of him not to be here! Perhaps that's why you like him so much. Perhaps it's very clever—with a person like you—to be never there! Perhaps it's the only way to make you think about him!"
"What do you mean by a person like me?"
"You are right. There is no one like you. Anyhow, it's a cleverness I could never pretend to. I know I should be always there, or thereabouts. At all risks! Yes, all! I always say so."
The New Gallery certainly did seem to raise their spirits. They sat there for a long time exchanging ideas and avoiding the pictures in a marked manner. Felicity had nothing whatever to do that evening, which she had intended to spend with her husband. Savile, who was staying with her, wouldn't be back from Craig-y-nos till heaven knew when. Oddly enough, Mr. Wilton also had no engagement that evening. "So much so," he said, that he had taken a large box at the Gaiety all by himself, to go and see that new thing. Felicity, oddly enough—it was the first night—had not seen the piece. He advised that she should. Then she would have to dine all alone at home while poor Mr. Wilton was going to dine in lonely solemnity at the Carlton. Matters were adjusted so far that she agreed to meet him at the restaurant on condition he made up a party.
"Ask Vera Ogilvie and Captain Henderson. Perhaps the horrid noise and vulgarity, and your society, may brighten me up," she said consolingly, "or at least divert my thoughts."
He sincerely hoped so. Much telephoning at the Club resulted in a promise from Bob and Mrs. Ogilvie to come too, so all was well.
But Felicity dressed for dinner in quite an irritable frame of mind, and nearly cried because she accidentally broke a fan Chetwode had given her.
Mr. Wilton could not have been quite so depressed, really, for after flying off in the adored motor to the Gaiety and the Carlton on urgent matters of business, he went home and looked a very long time at the little Romney quite cheerfully. He found himself beaming so markedly in the mirror over his button-hole and white waistcoat when dressing, that it suddenly struck him both the smile and the button-hole were overdone. They were triumphant, and triumph was vulgar (and premature). He removed them both, and went out with a suitable tinge of gentle restrained melancholy, at once very becoming, respectful, and, he trusted, interesting. He knew he had not lost much ground by his boldness at his first visit. A woman can pardon a moment of audacity more easily than a moment of misplaced respectful coldness. The one may be an attack on her dignity, but the other is a slight to her charm. And Felicity had such pretty manners; there was a touch of formality always with all her gaiety that left a dashing young man in doubt. It was certainly an interesting doubt.