The Twelfth Hour Part 39

"It'll take some time, writing and getting an answer," said Wilton.

"No good expecting an answer," said Savile. "He's the sort of chap who never writes letters unless they're unnecessary."

"And Lady Chetwode will be in a hurry," observed Bertie.

"You know her pretty well," said Savile.

"Then what's your idea?"

"I shall send him an enormous wire," said Savile--"he's more likely to read it than a letter--explaining the whole thing, and telling him to come home at once. I shan't ask for an answer."

"Why not?"

"Because I shouldn't get it."

"Good. That's a capital idea. But--a--Savile, can you afford these luxuries? I couldn't have, when I was a boy at Eton.--Look here, let me----"

Savile turned round and looked Wilton straight in the face.

"No, thanks," he said deliberately, shaking his head. Bertie's colour rose.

"But, my dear boy, why on earth not?"

"Oh, I expect you know," said Savile. Then feeling a little remorseful for the rebuff, he added: "Don't you bother about that. Besides, Aunt William gave me a couple of quid the other day to buy a ring for the girl I'm engaged to. I shan't buy it just yet. That's all."

Bertie concealed his amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Then you'll have to keep the poor girl waiting," he said.

"Keep her waiting?" said Savile. "Of course I shall. It's a very good plan." He got up and took his hat. "Makes them more keen. Don't you find it so?"

"In _my_ unfortunate experience nothing makes them keen at all, unless, of course, it's some one one doesn't want. And then everything does."

"Hard luck!" said Savile, shaking his head wisely, and took his leave, thinking with a smile that Wilton, having obviously got the chuck, was trying to keep in favour by playing the good friend. "He's not half a bad chap," thought Savile. "And I'll send that wire; it's a good idea."

He stood under a lamp at the corner of Half-Moon Street and counted his money.

"Confound it, I've only got a bob! It'll just pay for a cab to Aunt William's."

Thoroughly enjoying this exciting and adventurous life of diplomacy, he arrived at his aunt's. She was dressing for dinner. Nevertheless, for Savile, she came downstairs in a magenta wrapper.

"I hope there's nothing wrong, my dear boy," she said.

"No, everything's quite all right. But--you know what you gave me the other day, Aunt William?"

"Yes, dear."

"Sorry to say it's all gone."

"Oh, Savile!"

"Before I go back," said Savile, with a note of pathos in his voice, "I've one or two little presents I'm awfully keen on giving. I dare say you understand."

She didn't understand, but she gave him a five-pound note.

He beamed, and said, "Well, of all the bricks!"

"You promise me to spend it wisely, Savile dear. But I know I can trust you."

"Rather! This will be more frightfully useful than you can possibly imagine. Well, it seems beastly to rush in and get all I can, and then fly; but I've simply got to go. Besides, you want to dress," said Savile, looking at the wrapper.

"Yes. Get along with you, and I do hope that you won't turn out a dreadful, extravagant, fast young man when you're grown up," said Aunt William, with relish at the idea.

Savile smiled.

"Don't you worry about _that_, Aunt William! Why, you're thinking of ages ago, or Ouida, or something. There's no such thing nowadays as a fast young man, as you call it. They're always talking about how ill they are, or how hard up, and how they don't want to be bothered with women."

"How do you mean, dear?"

"Why, they're frightened to death of girls marrying them against their will--or getting mixed up in things--oh, I don't know! Anyhow, women seem to think it a great score to get hold of one. So that proves it, don't you think?"

"Then why is it that your sisters, for instance, are always surrounded by admirers?" said Aunt William.

"First of all, surrounded is bosh. Just as much as what you're always saying, that Sylvia has the world at her feet. They happen to be particularly pretty, and Felicity's jolly clever. But after all, they have only one or two each--admirers, I mean. And _they_--the girls--are exceptions."

Aunt William sighed.

"You're very worldly-wise, and you're a very clever boy, but you don't know everything."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE EXPLANATION

The fact that Chetwode was returning more than a week sooner than she had expected, seemed to Felicity a hopeful sign. She hesitated for about half an hour as to whether or not she should go and meet him at the station. Doubt and dignity suggested remaining at home, but impatience carried the day.

As she was waiting on the platform, the prophecy of Madame Zero occurred to her, and she thought to herself, with a smile--

"She doesn't seem so bad at prophesying what one's _going_ to do. It's when she prophesies what one _ought_ to have done that the poor dear gets out of her depth."

When he had arrived, and they were driving off together, she thought he looked neither more nor less serene and casual than usual; his actual presence seemed to radiate calm and dispose of anxiety; her suspicions began to melt away.

They had dined together, and talked on generalities, and neither had mentioned the subject. Chetwode's intense dislike to any disturbing topic infected Felicity; she now felt a desire to let him off even an explanation. She wished she had never seen the velvet case, or, at any rate, that she had never mentioned it to any one. He didn't, she fancied, look as if he were deceiving her in any way. His affection was not more marked than usual, nor less so. She observed there was no tinge in his manner of an attempt to make up for anything. Yet the question had to be asked.

"What did you do most of the time there?" began Felicity.