"That's just what he wants," she sighed. "If we begin a house party there, though, think what a picnic it will be! And besides, Sylvia Laycey is sure to be somewhere about, and he'll probably fall in love with her again. I do wish I could make up my mind. What are you doing to-night, dad?"
"I am dining with Montavon," her father replied, "at the club. He has a party of four for whist."
"Dear old things!" Letitia murmured affectionately. "I hope you have Sheffield plate candlesticks on the table. Why not go in fancy dress—one of those Georgian Court dresses, you know—black velvet knickerbockers, a sword and peruke! Much better let me give you a lesson at auction bridge."
The Marquis shivered.
"You play the game?" he asked politely.
"I tried it as a means of subsistence," Letitia confessed, "but my partners always did such amazing things that I found there was nothing in it. If you are really dining out, dad, I shall go to the play with Charlie."
"Alone?"
"Don't be silly, dear," Letitia protested, flicking her whip. "Remember what that wicked old lady wrote in her memoirs—'Balham requires a chaperon, but Grosvenor Square never.' I shall try and get used to him this evening. I may even have wonderful news for you in the morning."
The Marquis took up his book again.
"I wish, my dear, that I could believe it," he told her fervently.