a peer's daughter, the most beautiful woman in society.
Bavin had done everything as it should be done, at Eton, at Balliol, at
All Souls, at the Bar, in the social world. His career was an epitome
of success.

He would, of course, speak last. Chard, a strong supporter of the
Government, would precede him. It was hard luck on Chard, one felt,
that he should have to come first: Bavin's oratorical bludgeonings
would make a mess of Chard. Still Chard was the only man who had any
chance against Bavin. One pinned one's faith on Chard to rise to the
occasion. Anyhow it would be fun, and everybody would be there.

Martin liked Chard for his thorough-going pursuit of success, his
willingness to borrow brilliance from any source, his capacity for
making use of anybody and anything.

"Chard is getting the limit," Rendell complained to Martin. "Do you
think he ever has a single thought outside his career?"

"Chard is to me as a modern hotel palace to Arnold Bennett. His
methods fascinate me: I can't help loving him."

"I suppose he'll be a Cabinet Minister in twelve years or so."

"I trust it won't be long. He'll be very nice on a Front Bench."

So Martin remained a friend of Chard's, and Chard read to him all the
great speech wherewith he was to extinguish in advance the raging fire
of Bavin's dialectic.

Chard knew his audience and had included just the right jokes.

But Chard was not liked by everyone. Many of the college objected to
him for seeking friends outside their walls: the athletic Mandarins had
never forgiven his method of meeting their request for his presence at
the boats. Chard didn't mind: these people were not voting members of
the Union. Most of all he was disliked by Smith-Aitken, whose father,
_ne_ Smith, had made a fortune in pickles. This father, being a
self-made man, had entertained notions of his son as a hard worker and
had refused to send him to one of the more expensive and aristocratic
colleges. Foolishly he forgot to limit his son's allowance, and so
Smith-Aitken rode horses and joined the Bullingdon. He was not a nice
man. He had greasy yellow curls, several rings, an eyeglass, a motor
car, some horses, and a very special taste for liqueur brandy. Chard
used to make jokes about him and his victim knew it.

One night Smith-Aitken, having ridden after a fox all day, returned to
a repast whose main features were champagne and the very special
liqueur brandy. Before he was p