FELICITY'S ENGAGEMENTS
"Is Lady Chetwode at home?"
Before Greenstock, who seemed about to give a negative answer, could
reply, Wilton went on.
"Oh yes, she _must_ be at home; please ask her to read this note, and
send me down a verbal answer immediately."
"Very well, sir."
"I won't get out, Greenstock. I'll just wait in the motor till I get an
answer."
"Yes, sir."
Wilton turned to the chauffeur and said, "How do you think she's looking
to-day, Pearce?"
The motor had recently been painted green, because Felicity had said it
was too compromising to drive with Wilton in a scarlet one.
"Never better, sir," said the chauffeur.
"You know I _was_ right, Pearce. Green suits her much better than
scarlet. In fact, I rather doubt whether you could point me out a case
in which I am ever wrong, Pearce. With regard to the motor, I mean, of
course."
"Oh no, sir."
"How do you mean 'Oh no'? Do you mean I'm ever wrong then?"
"Oh no, sir."
They both looked with suppressed pride at the automobile which was
snorting rather impatiently under these personal remarks.
Greenstock appeared.
"Will you step in, sir?"
At the summons Wilton sprang out and ran quickly up into the
drawing-room.
It was a beautiful room with hardly anything in it; a large, high, empty
room in pure First Empire style. A small yellow sofa with gilded claws,
and narrow bolster cushions, was near the fireplace; a light blue curved
settee, with animals' heads, was in the middle of the room. There was a
highly polished parquet floor with no carpet, a magnificent chandelier,
and the curtains were held up by elaborately carved and gilded cornices
with warlike ornaments.
Bertie wandered round the room, tried, vainly, to see himself in the
narrow looking-glass, which was placed too high, and admired the
refreshing absence of fat cushions, unnecessary draperies, photographs,
and vases of flowers. On a small console-table was one immense basket
of mauve orchids. Bertie was looking at this with some curiosity, not
unmixed with annoyance, when Felicity came into the room.
"How _marvellous_ of you!" he exclaimed. "Again I'm thunderstruck at
your having _exactly_ the right thing to wear, to come down early in the
morning to see a too persistent friend!" He looked at her dress. "Pale
green--how well it suits you; and how wonderful of you to be so
empireish--at this hour!"
"What _do_ you want, Bertie?" said Felicity, smiling, but impatiently.
"Oh, please don't be so definite! and I thought you knew!"
"Please don't be so imbecile; I don't want to know."
They both sat down, and she held out the letter.
"I didn't read all this," she said; "but you seem to have given me a
programme of your engagements for to-day. I can't think why."
"Because I want to know yours. To come to the point," said Wilton. "If I
go to the Ogilvies', will you be there?"
"Well, of course! As if Vera could have a musical afternoon without me!"
"Good, that's settled. And what are you doing to-night?"
"Well, which do you advise?" she said. "The Creepers'? Or Jasmyn Vere's
party?"
"If I might advise, _do_ go there. His things are really rather jolly.
Is Chetwode coming?"
"No, Chetwode's struck. He won't go to anything more. He's going away on
Saturday for the week end, so I shall stop at home with him to-morrow.
To-night I'll go to Jasmyn Vere's. What time does one get there?"
"One gets there a little before you do, for the pleasure of the anxiety
and agonising suspense of dreading you won't come and knowing you will."
He got up. "If you would turn up at half-past ten--before the crush--we
could sort of sit out, and laugh at the people."
"Perhaps I shall," said Felicity.
"Lady Chetwode, you are as good as you are beautiful."
"Oh, don't carry on like that, Bertie! I suppose it's through your
having gone to that ball as Louis XIX; every now and then you seem to
think you're in the last century."
"But when I'm here, I know I'm in the next," and he took his leave in
the highest spirits.
* * * * *
At lunch, "Chetwode," said Felicity, "I shall be at Vera's till seven.
They're going to have the wonderful new child harpist. He looks like a
sort of cherub, with golden hair."
"Little beast," said Chetwode, "he ought to be in bed."
"Oh, darling, not at four in the afternoon! And what about to-night? I
suppose we dine together at home? and then I'm going to Jasmyn Vere's,
one of his musical parties."
"Oh, yes."
"Chetwode dear, you know the horses will be out all the afternoon. I
thought I'd have the carriage just to _take_ me to the party and come
home in a cab--it's only round the corner. Is there any off-chance of
your coming to fetch me? Oh _do_! You really might!"
"No," said Chetwode. He added, "No doubt Wilton will see you home."
She looked up quickly. Was there a tone of irony in his voice? Could he
be a shade jealous? How delightful!
"Why, I can come home alone," she said. "It's not sure that Bertie and I
will both want to leave at the same time."
"But I should think it's on the cards," said Chetwode, rather coldly.
"No use bothering you to come?"
"None at all. Who does the hostess at Jasmyn's parties?"
"Oh, Bertie's mother, Lady Nora Wilton, you know."
"I see."
"Did you think," said Felicity, laughing, "that it would be Agatha, Mrs.
Wilkinson?"
"Oh--you mean the woman who's so fond of horses. Why, is she a friend of
Vere's?"
"Some people say so, of course I don't know."
"I always see her," said Chetwode, "at races, with Bobby Henderson."
"Oh yes," said Felicity, "but that's only intellectual sympathy! I can't
see the point of Bobby Henderson, can you? Vera likes him so much too."
"There _is_ no point about him. He's just the usual sporting, stupid
guardsman."
Felicity lit her husband's cigarette and left him.
* * * * *
Her dress this afternoon had been very carefully thought out to contrast
with Vera's.
Vera was dressed in dull flame colour, becoming to her white skin and
black hair. Felicity was in black and white. She wore a white hat, with
a black velvet bow, and one enormous gardenia. It was impossible not to
be pleased at Bertie's suppressed enthusiasm when she arrived. He was so
fastidious about clothes, and she knew she was a real success to-day.
"Oh, Felicity, isn't it too _horrible_? The chief person can't come!"
Vera was fluttering a telegram and evidently trying not to cry. "The
_great_ tenor, you know." She turned to Wilton. "Isn't it cruel at the
last minute?"
"Oh, don't worry, darling. Most likely no one will notice it--you see
you kept it dark as a surprise, luckily," said Felicity.
"And it _is_ a surprise--to me!" said Vera.
"Oh, isn't the little harpy infant phenomenon coming?" asked Felicity.
"Oh yes, _that's_ all right; he's here now, playing draughts with his
mother in my room to prevent him getting nervous; and eating bread and
jam. Thank goodness for that!"
"Oh, what sort of jam?" asked Wilton eagerly. "Pray don't keep it from
me! Raspberry, greengage--_please_ tell me, Mrs. Ogilvie!"
"Why, what _can_ it matter?"
"It matters enormously."
"One would think you were a reporter," said Felicity.
"I'm not. I'm only a psychologist."
"Same thing," said Felicity.
"Well, anyhow, it's marmalade--so there!" said Vera.
"Oh, how delightful," exclaimed Wilton; "to match his hair, of course.
Of course it's his mother's idea though. What a good mother she must
be!"
"Oh, here he is, at last. Where are his wings?"
The boy, with his white suit and golden hair and small harp, looked,
literally, angelic. There was a murmur of admiration.
"There oughtn't to be a dry eye in the room when he plays Schumann,"
said Felicity; "and fancy, Savile wouldn't come because he said he would
long to kick him, and he was afraid Vera wouldn't like it."
"I rather agree with Vera there," said Bertie.
"No one would like, at one's musical party, to have one's artists
kicked!"
"Everything is all right," said Felicity, as she smiled and bowed to
some one.
"Why is everything all right? You gave one of your _special_ smiles just
now! Who was it?"
"De Valdez. It's rather jolly of him to have come here to-day. He was
expected at the Spanish Embassy."
"Probably going on afterwards."
"Possibly not," said Felicity.
"I admit I admire De Valdez very much," said Wilton. "Caring for nothing
on earth but music and philosophy, and the kindest-hearted man in the
world, he has been literally hounded into society by admiring women, and
all the fuss about him hasn't spoilt him a bit; he would keep a royal
party waiting for luncheon while he ran down to Bedford Park to spend
the day with an old friend."
"The point is," said Felicity calmly, "that he's a genius."
"Oh, is he? I don't know much about music," said Wilton rather
jealously.
"I know you don't."
"The point is, that he's remarkably handsome," said Bertie.
"Now you're being disagreeable. Of course he's handsome, but that's
_not_ the point."
At this moment De Valdez joined them. Felicity took his arm and went
down to tea.
The boy harpist created wildest enthusiasm; a little later De Valdez
sang (after which nearly every husband present suggested it was time to
go), and, on the whole, the afternoon was as great a success as these
things ever are.
Quite late Bob Henderson arrived, full of tips--straight from the
stable. Vera did not try to detain her lingering guests. Mr. Ogilvie
never appeared on these occasions, but came home to dinner at eight,
cross-questioned Vera, and did not listen to her answers in his usual
amiable manner.
* * * * *
Jasmyn Vere was extremely anxious, as he always was, to have something a
little out of the way for his party. He literally lived for society,
and, in a minor degree, for Agatha. As he was a bachelor, and had
devoted even more time and energy to knowing none of the wrong people
than to knowing all the right ones, a party of his was looked upon as
not a thing to miss, particularly as a decorous originality was always
to be expected.
Lady Nora Wilton, a beauty of the early '80's, was a graceful and still
pretty woman of forty-five; it was probably from her that Bertie had
inherited his good looks and high spirits.
"What _can_ we do just a little original?" Jasmyn had asked her.
"What sort of thing? You don't mean to be American and let all the
people come dressed as children, or ask some wild animals to look in in
the evening?"
Jasmyn threw up his hands in horror.
"My dear Lady Nora, don't make fun of me! No, some rather intelligent
people are coming."
"Really? I thought your parties were always very smart!"
"There'll be some people who can talk, don't you know."
"What about?" said Lady Nora.
"Ah! that's the point! Now, I propose that when supper's on there shall
be a special supper served at one table for ten in my little octagon
room, and _with_ the menu a subject for conversation with each item! It
will, of course, not bore people, because, from the programme, they will
see there is an ordinary supper-room too, and they can choose!"
"It will be a general conversation, remember; and people aren't very
keen on that," said Lady Nora.
"Well, we shall see. So long as you don't disapprove (and one other lady
to whom I shall speak of it). I think it's not a bad idea. I shall not
have good music, Lady Nora. It isn't a concert--it's a conversazione."
"But you won't have _bad_ music? I can't imagine anything bad in your
house," said Lady Nora.
"No, but music that encourages talk. De Valdez once sang at my
house--_Everybody_ was there, and they _all_ talked! He got up and said,
in the middle of Although, that lovely song, 'Here are five hundred
people who want to talk, and only one who wants to sing. The odds are
not fair. I give in.' And nothing would induce him to go on. But as he
remained and was most agreeable to every one, one could hardly call it
the caprice of a spoilt artist. Indeed, I think he was quite right."
Lady Nora sighed. "But how uncomfortable! Well, then, you'd better have
the Blue Hungarians and the Red ones too. Those who don't like the one
can listen to the other."
He laughed and said, "Bertie's the image of his mother. I shall have a
first-rate band and second-rate music."
"Agatha, Mrs. Wilkinson," was delighted at all the plans but said she
simply _must_ go to supper with Bobby Henderson, as it would be too
marked to be escorted by the host.
As a matter of fact, nothing Agatha did was ever noticed, because she
never did anything that was not extraordinary.
* * * * *
"Do I look all right, Chetwode?"
"Quite unnecessarily so," said Chetwode, and he gave her a look, which
she recognised as the greatest compliment she ever received.
Her eyes brightened and she blushed.
"And who," said Chetwode, "may I ask, put it into your head to wear an
entirely gold dress with your golden hair?"
She hesitated half a second.
"Oh! not the dressmaker? and it wasn't your own idea? I can only think
of one other person. Do congratulate Wilton from me on his success as a
designer."
"Chetwode! if I did ask him to design it, it was so that you should be
pleased with the dress."
He smiled. "Quite so. And I am."
"Oh, won't you come and fetch me?"
"It's quite impossible. How late shall you stay?"
"I'll come back just when you like."
"Oh, enjoy yourself, dear. I'm going to stop at home."
He seemed to have regained the equanimity that for a moment he seemed to
have lost.
Driving along, Felicity thought, "Perhaps if Chetwode _could_ be a shade
jealous of Bertie, it might be a good thing. Still, that sort of thing
is so commonplace. _We_ oughtn't to have to descend to it."
Surely Chetwode, who never went by the opinion of others, who absolutely
judged for himself, and for whom general success by no means raised the
value of his choice, could not care a shade more for his wife because
she was admired by Wilton, and would care less for her if he did not
think her incapable of admiring any one but himself.
"Are any of those eternal vulgar theories about love really ever true?"
thought Felicity. Then wasn't Chetwode superior? Of course he was. That
was why she loved him, and in wishing him to be an ordinary jealous
man, she was wishing him to descend. However, when "Faute des roses"
greeted her (exquisitely played by the Hungarians), and she was sitting
in a bower of roses in her gold dress, with her respectfully worshipping
and delightfully amusing Bertie, Felicity forgot her anxiety and
thoroughly enjoyed herself. She was made much of, and admired; the
homage was intoxicating, she was young, and she imprudently gave every
one present the impression that she was flirting desperately with Bertie
Wilton.