t time), preferring him to a young man of talent and charm for whom
he had shown indulgent affection for twenty-two years, was one of those
mysteries that seem unsolvable in elderly gentlemen in general and in
wicked uncles in particular. Sir Bryce had always been particularly fond
of young people, and certainly greater youth and the nearer relationship
were obviously the only points in which the son had the advantage over
the nephew.

When Woodville found himself really hard up he sought a certain
consolation in trying to do without things and in the strenuous hourly
endeavour to avoid spending sixpence; no easy task to a man whose head
was always in the clouds and his hand always in his pocket. As a novelty
even economy may have its pleasures, but they are not, perhaps to all
temperaments, either very sound or very lasting.

At the moment when omnibuses, cheap cigarettes, and self-denial were
beginning to pall he had accepted the offer of the secretaryship,
intending to look about to try to get something more congenial; perhaps
to drift into diplomacy. Nothing could be less to his taste than the
post of shorthandwriter to a long-winded old gentleman, to writing out
speeches that in all probability would never be made, and copying
pamphlets that would (most fortunately) never be printed. Often he
thought he would rather "break stones on the road," drive a hansom cab,
or even go on the stage, than be the superfluous secretary of such a
dull, though dear nonentity.

Woodville also went in for painting: he had a little talent and a great
deal of taste, sufficient, indeed, to despise his own work though he
enjoyed doing it. In his leisure time he even tried to make money by
copying old masters, and often sold them for quite amazing prices
(amazingly low, I mean) to a few people who honestly preferred them to
the originals on the undeniable grounds that they were at once cleaner
and less costly. He was ambitious and knew he had brains and energy,
besides being rather unusually well-turned-out in the matter of culture.
And yet he had remained at Onslow Square for five years! As a career it
was nothing. It could lead to nothing. Was there, then, some other
attraction, something that outweighed, transcended for him all the petty
pangs and penalties of his position?

This arch surmise of the writer will be found by the persevering reader
to be perfectly reasonable and founded on fact.

CHAPTER III

A LOVE SCENE