“I’m quite well; it isn’t that, Evelyn.” “Well, what is it then?” “Same old trouble, only worse. It was a bit thick that Sir Roger should have selected to-day of all days to have what he calls a grand clear up; yesterday, when it was raining cats and dogs, would have been better, wouldn’t it? But I don’t mind that; after all, he can do what work he likes when he likes, and I’m here for nothing else. But what I do object to is his way of doing it. The first thing he said to me, for instance, this morning when he got to his desk was ‘Now, my lad, I’ll have you remember you’re paid to work, not loaf about and look pretty. Why the devil wasn’t all this ready for me yesterday?’ and in that nasty hard voice of his, which always reminds me of the shutting of a despatch box. I pointed out to him as quietly as I could——” “I know that quiet way of yours,” interrupted Evelyn; “it’s rather irritating, you know, sometimes, Philip, especially to a man like Sir Roger.” “Well, I try not to make it so, but I can’t help the facts, can I? He had distinctly told me a couple of days ago to leave the thing over till to-day; and he was furious when I reminded him of what he’d said. It seems to me sometimes that he takes a perfect delight in petty tyranny.” “Oh, I don’t like to think that.” “He used not to be so bad, but he’s getting worse, and when he has a touch of gout he really is the very deuce. As a matter of fact, I don’t really mind his manner, except sometimes, but just lately he has begun to hint at things.” “What d’you mean by things?” “Well——” he paused irresolutely and then continued, “he doubted my word the other day, more than half suggested I was feathering my own nest at his expense, cooked his accounts, if you want to know; and then when he found he was wrong and I was fool enough to think he’d apologize—not he; all he said was that I’d better be careful, he’d got his eye on me. I tell you, Evelyn, it’s rotten.” He stared out gloomily across the lawn. “I’m sure it is,” she answered with real sympathy. “Tell me, how’s the book going? That is always a great consoler, isn’t it?” “It used to be,” he replied, “but I’m stuck. It began so well last summer, didn’t it?” “Yes, I liked the first part very much.” “Well, all I’ve done since is heavy; I feel it is and I’m sure you’d think so. I haven’t been able to get the necessary lightness, and a tale of that sort is no good at all unless it’s told charmingly. However,” with a swift transition to brightness, “I don’t care really about anything else as long as I’m here. That’s the real trouble,” he frowned heavily again and went on with a return to gloom; “he’s begun to intimate that he’s only waiting for a chance to sack me.” “Philip!” “Yes, I know, and that I simply won’t bear. I’ll see that he doesn’t get a legitimate chance, but if he makes one—and he’s quite capable of doing it—well, let him look out for himself, that’s all.”