Read Ebook: The Twelfth Hour by Leverson Ada

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Ebook has 1380 lines and 45113 words, and 28 pages

"Yes, that's all very well, but it was a liberty. It implies that I cannot provide you with all that you require. He must learn better." Mr. Wilton firmly removed the plover's egg and placed it on the next table, at which Rivers and the red-haired girl were still chattering volubly. Rivers immediately brought it back as lost property, courteously presenting it to Felicity on a silver salver.

"I've been waiting for you for years," said Bertie Wilton in a soft, low, impressive voice.

"Fancy! How patient of you!--How did you know it was me?"

"Oh, instantaneous-sympathy, I suppose."

"On your side, do you mean? I should call it telepathy, or perhaps--conceit."

"Call it what you like. But how is it you're so wonderful? Tell me that."

"I can't think," she said dreamily.

"I'm certain I met you in a previous existence," continued the young man.

"I know, I saw you from there. I was rooted to the spot--I believe that's the right expression, though it sounds rather agricultural--while at the same time you might have knocked me down with a feather! It's really true, you might. But I know you wouldn't have, you're far too good and kind."

"Then I may come and see you the day after to-morrow?" he asked.

"Not till the day after to-morrow!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why wait so long?"

"At what time?" he persisted, smiling.

"You may call next Monday--at five. Not this week."

"That's impossible. I can't. It's too dreadful. I can't wait till Monday, I can't.... Well, let me come on Tuesday, then?"

"If I might call to-morrow, ONCE, I'll never be engaged again! I'll never call on any one else during the whole of my natural life."

"All right," she said absently. "Call to-morrow, ONCE, as you say. Not that I ever heard of any one calling twice the same day, at least not the first day."

"Oh, Lady Chetwode, how kind of you! Did you say five? Can't you make it half-past four?"

"Very well."

"Won't you make it three? I beg your pardon. I'll walk up and down in front of the house strewing flowers from three till half-past four and then come in, may I? And will there be crowds of people there?"

"Well, you haven't given me much time," said Felicity. "I'll try to get up a party by to-morrow, if you wish it."

"How can you be so unkind! Do you think me very pushing--and vulgar?"

"Very. No, only vulgar."

"At any rate, I'm sincere. It's like Tristan and Ysolde; at least, it's like Tristan. You can't look me straight in the eyes and tell me I'm not sincere!"

Felicity looked; and was quite satisfied.... How hard it was that Chetwode was not there for her to tell him all about the conversation going home! This thought vexed her so much that she became absent and lost spirit to keep it up.

Mr. Rivers had promised to send the red-haired girl, who had fallen hopelessly in love with him, his latest book. He had arranged to take her and her mother to a concert at the Queen's Hall the following Sunday afternoon.

Roy Beaumont was the centre of a crowd of interested people, chiefly bearded men, who paid him sportive homage, and pretty women, as he illustrated, by means of a wineglass, two knives, and a saltspoon, his new invention for having one's boots fastened by electricity, which was to do for Marconigrams, expose radium as a foolish fraud, and consign clock-work to limbo. "You don't touch the buttons and the invention does the rest," he pointed out.

Aunt William in her peach gown was taken down to supper by Jasmyn. He was a plump middle-aged young man, a very social person, and quite an arbiter on matters of fashion; known for his kindness and politeness to dear old ladies and shy young men. A romantic affection for a certain widow, whom his friends said he spoke of as "Agatha, Mrs. Wilkinson," to give the effect of a non-existent title, had prevented him, so far, from marrying. He was bland and plaintive, looked distinguished, supremely good-natured, and rather absurd.

"And the other half," said Jasmyn, "you have perhaps heard of rather too often. No strawberries, Mrs. Crofton?"

"No thank you. I don't care for fruit, except in its proper season. My dear husband always said strawberries were not eatable till the fourth of June."

"Depression! Yes, you would. Having everything on earth you want, and being thoroughly spoilt, like all men of the present day, you would naturally have low spirits."

"Ah, I dare say you don't believe me. But I assure you, Mrs. Crofton, that under all my outward misery I generally have an aching heart.... How lovely Lady Chetwode's looking!"

"Do you know, I'm terribly frightened of Savile," said Jasmyn. "He's such a man of the world that I feel positively crude beside him."

Before the end of the evening, Ridokanaki took an opportunity to ask if Woodville would dine with him.

"I want to have a little talk with you," he said. "I have an idea--it may be perfectly wrong--that what I have to say may interest you."

Woodville accepted; surprised at his rival's cordiality.

"At Willis's, then, at eight, Mr. Woodville?"

"At eight. Thanks very much."

FELICITY AND HER CLIENTS

When Felicity woke up in her enormous, over-draped, over-decorated, gilded, carved, and curved bed she was immediately as wide awake as though she had been up several hours.

There was no slow rousing to the realities of life, no sleepy yawning or languid return from a land of dreams. She dashed the hair out of her eyes, at once put on her glasses , and began immediately and systematically to tell her fortune by cards. She did this regularly every morning. It was a preliminary to her day's campaign, when Everett came in with the tea and letters, drew aside the heavy blue curtains, embroidered all over with gold fleur-de-lys, and let in a ray of April sunshine. According to her usual practice, Felicity kept up a running commentary on her correspondence.

"From darling Chetwode.--'My own beautiful little angel, It is quite'--what's this? hop-picking? no--'heart-breaking that I can't get back to you for another week. Tobacco Trust was beaten by a short head, as of course you know, but Onlooker is a dead certainty for to-morrow. Will wire result.

"'Lady Virginia Creeper at home. Five to seven.' Well, I can't help it. Let her stop at home. It's the best place for her.

"'Dearest Lady Chetwode, you haven't forgotten, I am sure, that you promised to see me at three to-morrow. I come to you with my tears. You are the greatest adviser and consoler in all heart troubles. Of late I have been enamoured of sorrow. But for your wonderful "Bureau de Consultation Sentimentale," where should we poor sentimentalists be! Agatha has been simply brutal to me lately. I can find no other word. I look forward to pouring my grief into your shell-like ear. I will bring my new song, "Cruel as the Grave."' How cheering! Jasmyn Vere is perfectly absurd about Agatha. He's a bore, anyhow.

"'Dear old girl; I'm coming to lunch to-day. Everything is rather rotten. I have news of HER. Your aff. brother Savile.'

"'Darling Felicity, be a perfect angel and let my maid see your mauve tea-gown. I know you are so good-natured or I wouldn't dare to ask. I am very anxious about HIM. Oh, why are men always the same? I found out that the wretch instead of being ill, the other day, had taken that awful Lucy Winter to a picture-gallery. What a girl! All red hair and eye-glasses. Let me see you soon. Your devoted friend, Vera Ogilvie.' I am sure Vera needn't worry. Lucy Winter was evidently wild about F. J. Rivers last night. I must tell her. What stupid letters! Oh! here's a new handwriting.

Then followed a one-sided conversation through the telephone, which was fixed by the side of the Louis Quinze bed.

"Yes, darling.... Oh, all right.... Didn't he?... I say, you might come back soon.... I really shouldn't bother about that screen.... What?... I said screen, not scream.... We have heaps more than we want already.... Oh! and ever so many people are coming this afternoon.... A perfectly new young man.... What?... Oh, not bad!... Safety in numbers?... Even if you take the numbers one at a time?... Good-bye."

"Funny! I can't eat a thing! Sylvia says I live on nothing but oranges. Pretty rotten sign, eh? Here's what I've heard about HER."

"I shan't have another chance to see HER before I go back," said Savile, looking steadily at his sister.

Savile was nearly purple with joy. "Would you really? What bricks girls can be!" He shook hands with her with intense self-restraint, and murmured, "I shan't forget this, old girl."

Felicity completed the arrangements, and Savile left, a very happy boy.

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