"I say, Felicity, what are you doing to-night?"
"I don't know, I haven't thought of it."
"Chetwode not turning up yesterday you were disappointed."
"I know I was. And, yet—look at this letter!" she showed him another of her husband's long elaborate love-letters.
"Letters are all right, and of course no man, especially your husband, would write all that stuff—I beg your pardon—unless everything was all right. But Chetwode's eccentric."
"I suppose he is. I think I shall dine out to-night, Savile, after all."
"After all what?" asked Savile.
"I'm engaged to-night, dear."
"You're surely not going to dine with Mrs. Ogilvie and her pals—and Wilton, at the Carlton again?"
"How right you are! Clever boy! I'm not, we're going to the Savoy."