The Twelfth Hour Part 31

Felicity looked up and said, "Oh, Savile, you're just the person I want--an appalling thing has happened."

Savile sat down, lit a cigarette, and offered one to her, which she accepted.

Her manner was rather like that of a young man who, though he dislikes it, has decided to confide in a friend.

"Look here," she said, "I've had a wire from Chetwode to say he's going to stay on at the Tregellys till next week."

"Well, what of that? _That_ can't be all, surely?"

"You're right, it's not. I was looking in one of his innumerable carved chests for some novels, when I found a locked velvet case." She stopped a minute. He was silent.

"I found a key that fitted it," she went on.

"Did you, though?" said Savile.

"In it I found a lovely porcelain picture of a woman. Blanche Tregelly was written on the back. Where he's staying, you know. I've never seen her. I vaguely knew Tregelly was more or less married: he was at Oxford with Chetwode; but as they live so far away I've never got to know them."

"Don't see your point," said Savile.

"_Why_ has he got that picture, _and_ is staying on?"

"Tregelly," said Savile, "probably gave it to Chetwode to get something done to it--get it framed or something."

"Chetwode's not a framemaker! Why is he staying on?"

"Because he's having a good time."

"You're shirking the whole thing. The point is that when he stays away so long, it isn't only racing."

"Of course not. At the Tregellys, it's bridge."

"Yes--and Mrs. Tregelly."

Angry tears again filled her eyes, but she brushed them away.

"You know Chetwode _does_ admire beauty," she said.

Savile looked at the picture. "But only the very _most_ beautiful. I've never yet seen him admire anything second-rate. Have you?"

She beamed and said, "Savile, _is_ she second-rate?"

"Perhaps not, on porcelain."

"Savile, you _know_ that if Chetwode likes her, she's not only pretty, but very charming. In fact, I'm certain Blanche is perfectly delightful!

Pretending to oneself that one's rival is hideous and vulgar is a bit _too_ cheap. It doesn't console me."

"You're worse than an ordinary woman, Felicity," said Savile, with a laugh. "What do you propose to do? Go and consult George Lewis?"

"You're worse than an ordinary boy. I'm consulting you."

"No, you're not. You're asking my opinion. Chetwode is very----" He paused. "I've never seen him look at any other woman."

"Let's face facts, dear," said Felicity. "It's not what we've seen, of course."

"What have you decided to do?" said Savile. "To write and tell him you've found the photograph?"

"Yes."

"I thought you wanted him to come home."

"Don't you?"

"Yes, rather!" said Savile. "And I don't think he _would_ come home if he thought there was going to be a row of any kind. Lots of people love rows. He doesn't."

She looked rather at a loss, and then said, "Well, _what_ would you do if you were in my place?"

He waited a minute and then said: "Don't you always write to him, when he's away, as if you were enjoying yourself?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't he ever think that there's a good deal of Wilton one--way or another?"

"I think he has," she said, brightening up a little.

"Well, for heaven's sake don't try that with Chetwode! The more he was riled, the more he'd say to himself, 'Of course she's enjoying herself.

There's no harm in it. No hurry to go back.'"

"Chetwode," said Felicity, "is one of those very English men who would never own they're jealous unless things came to extremities, which, of course, naturally, they never would."

"Look here, you're making a fool of yourself," said Savile. "You're making yourself miserable over nothing at all." He stood up. "Don't do _anything_ till after lunch, perhaps not till this evening. You've just had a bit of a shock. You'll find you're wrong. Telephone when you want me."

He kissed her and went away.

Felicity closed the velvet case. She then dressed very beautifully to go out, but when it came to putting on her hat she couldn't. It requires fairly good spirits to put on a modern hat and veil. She thought she would go downstairs and think. Then she saw Bertie's green motor at the door. She hesitated a moment about letting him come in; then she thought that she would tell him about it, and according to how he behaved, would test him once for all. If he didn't do exactly the right thing, she would never see him again.

As Wilton came in, all the fluent conversation and compliments, the gossip and jokes he had been saving up to tell her, died away on his lips. He saw she had been crying. He sat down further away than usual, and said--

"Don't tell me if you'd rather not. I'll go away, shall I? I'm quite sure you're not in the mood for me."

She said, "No, don't go."

There was a moment's silence.

"What was the party like last night at the Harpers?" she then asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he answered.

"But you must have been there? I didn't tell you I'd changed my mind about going. I meant to, and then at the last minute something rather dreadful happened, and I stayed at home."