I passed the examination though they didn’t praise me much, or give any evidence of pleasure or surprise; and then my aunt said that she thought I ought to call on the Director of the Apollo Fire Office and thank him for his great kindness in giving her his nomination for me. The Director was out, but when he heard that I had called, he invited me to dine with him. I had never been invited to dinner before and rather wished my aunt would come too; but she said that she had not been asked, though she had often been there—to see Mr. Benyon Pepys and his original etchings. He followed art in his spare time, which was considerable, and my aunt had given him etching lessons, at which she was a great dab. He was also a descendant of the great Pepys of diary fame—so my aunt told me. He was a bachelor and very fond of pictures and very rich, as all Directors must be before they can rise to that high walk of life. “You ought to wear dress clothes,” said Aunt Augusta; “however, it is not vital. He will understand.” “You can hire ’em for a song,” declared Jane; but my aunt decided that I should put on my new tail-coat—with a white tie. When it came to putting on this tie, however, she didn’t care about it, and thought that I looked too much like a curate. She showed a sort of objection to curates that much surprised me; because at Merivale there had never been any feeling against them; in fact, quite the contrary. Many of the masters at Merivale used to read for the Church while they taught us; and when they had read enough, they went away and gradually became curates, as the next stage in their careers. But Aunt Augusta didn’t want me to look like one, and for that matter I didn’t myself, having no feeling for the Church; and so I put on a dark blue tie and wore my new silver watch and chain and went like that. Mr. Benyon Pepys was a short, clean-shaved man and lived in the utmost magnificence in a house not far from Cavendish Square. Naturally, I had never seen such a house or such magnificence. It was an abode of the highest art. There were three footmen and a church organ with golden pipes in the hall alone; and everything was done on the same scale throughout. One footman asked me my name and another took my overcoat and top-hat and hung them up on a hat-stand, of which every hat-peg was the twisted horn of an antelope! Then the man who had asked my name threw open a door, on which were painted rare flowers—probably orchids—and announced my arrival. “Mr. Corkey!” he said in a deep voice.