Felicity, after telegraphing to Bertie Wilton—"Come to dine here to-night. Can't go out. Felicity Chetwode"—then went to Onslow Square, where she found Sylvia in the garden. Sylvia was not reading a book, and seemed very busy smiling—smiling to herself in a dream of some rose-coloured happiness.
They interchanged ideas without words for a time. Then Sylvia said, "I do hope, Felicity, that Chetwode——"
"He's coming back to-night," she answered decidedly; then said rather abruptly—
"How's Mr. Woodville?"
For the first time Sylvia blushed at his name, as she bent down to pick up the book she had dropped.
"Oh, all right, I suppose. Won't it be nice when we go on the river? We're going quite early—in July."
"Is papa going to have the same house he had last year?"
"Oh, yes; but he's having it all differently furnished. He means to buy it, I think. And I'm to have a music-room opening out of my bedroom, in pale green! Won't it be lovely?"
"Yes," said Felicity, "lovely. And ... what did you say you thought of Bertie Wilton? There's something I rather like about his face."
"Yes, I know what it is—he's very good-looking. Not only that, he might be—well, rather too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't flirt with him, Felicity."