The Prime Minister stopped him with his hand. “Well, anyhow it _has_.” He paused and thought. “I can’t tell how it would suit you, but I think I can tell how you would suit it. Now on _that_ point I’m satisfied, Dimmy. You know the kind of work it is?” But Demaine didn’t know. “Well,” said the Prime Minister, leaning back easily and joining his hands, “it’s like all those things: you’ve got your staff ... in one way the work’s cut and dried. It’s very varied work. No man can be expected to grasp it all round. But,” (leaning forward) “like all these things, it wants a sort of general point of view, you understand me?” Dimmy did not dare to shake his head. “It wants a sort of ...” the Prime Minister swept his hand over the table--“a sort of what I may call a--well, a--a _common sense_, especially about sudden things. You have to decide sometimes.... But you’ll soon get into it,” he added in a tone of relief. “You’ll have Sorrel with you all the first few days; he’s exceedingly easy to get on with; he’s been there for years--that is, of course, if you take it.” “Yes,” said Demaine in a whirl, “yes, if I take it I shall have Sorrel.” “Then of course,” went on the Prime Minister rapidly, “it’s the kind of place which you can make anything of. It can count enormously; it counted enormously under Gherkin until he died. And Repton of course has made quite a splash in it.” Demaine shuddered slightly. “But there’s no necessity,” continued the other quickly, “it’s really better without a splash. It’s a plodding sort of attention that’s wanted,” he ended wearily; then with an afterthought he added: “Why not go to Sorrel now?” “Couldn’t you give me a note?” asked Demaine nervously. “Oh nonsense,” answered his cousin, upon whom the strain was beginning to tell. “Just go up and see him in his office. He’s the mildest of men.” “All right,” said Demaine sighing. He finished his tea and went out,--and as he left the Prime Minister called after him: “Don’t forget to find me after the division to-night. Then I can tell you if anything is settled.” Demaine walked undeterminedly towards the Dowry Offices behind Scotland Yard; his heart failed him; he did not go in. He stood aimlessly in Whitehall, staring at the traffic; his knees were not quite straight and his mouth was half open. Past him, as he so stood, strode, full of vigour and of will, the fixed form of Sir Charles Repton, walking towards Trafalgar Square. The younger man followed him with his eyes and felt in his heart what a gulf there was between them. He was by no means of those who dare, and the thought of office appalled him. Then suddenly he remembered the salary. His legs straightened beneath him and he forced himself up the stairs to where he might ask to see Mr. Sorrel. CHAPTER VIII Sir Charles Repton strode up Whitehall. His day’s work had been heavy, in the hours since that morning conversation, and he was suffering.