"I should say it would be most exciting," said Tony. "Especially the heavy-weight championship." He poured himself out half a glass of sherry and held it up to the light. "Talking of heavy-weights," he added, "how did you find our dear Cousin Henry?" "Henry was very well," said Guy. "He is coming to see you." Tony put down his glass and surveyed his cousin reproachfully. "And you call yourself a secretary and a friend?" he remarked. "I think it is very good for you to entertain Cousin Henry occasionally," returned Guy. "He is an excellent antidote to the Cosmopolitan Club and Brooklands." He paused. "Besides, he has a suggestion to make with which I am thoroughly in sympathy." A depressed expression flitted across Tony's face. "I am sure it has something to do with my duty," he said. Guy nodded. "I wish you would try and look on it in that light. Henry has put himself to a lot of trouble about it, and he will be very hurt if you don't take it seriously." "My dear Guy!" said Tony. "A proposal of Henry's with which you are in sympathy couldn't possibly be taken any other way. What is it?" "He has set his heart on your going into Parliament as you know. Well, he told me that last week he had spoken about you to the Chief Whip, and that they are arranging for you to stand as Government candidate for Balham North at the next general election." There was a long pause. "For where?" inquired Tony faintly. "For Balham North. It's a large constituency in South London close to Upper Tooting." "It would be," said Tony. "And may I ask what I have done to deserve this horrible fate?" "That's just it," said Guy. "You haven't done anything. Henry feels--indeed we all feel that as head of the family it is quite time you made a start." "You don't understand," said Tony with some dignity. "I am sowing my wild oats. It is what every wealthy young baronet is expected to do." "Leaving out the war," retorted Guy, "you have been sowing them for exactly six years and nine months." Tony smiled contentedly. "I always think," he observed, "that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well." There was another pause, while Guy, crumbling a bit of bread between his fingers, regarded his cousin with a thoughtful scrutiny. "As far as I can see, Tony," he said, "there is only one thing that's the least likely to do you any good. You want a complete change in your life--something that will wake you up to a sense of duty and responsibility. I think you ought to get married." Tony, who was helping himself to a glass of champagne, paused abruptly in the middle of that engaging occupation. "How remarkable!" he exclaimed. "Only yesterday Aunt Fanny made exactly the same suggestion. It must be something in the spring air." "I don't always agree with Aunt Fanny," said Guy, "but I think that for once in a way she was giving you excellent advice. A good wife would make a tremendous difference in your life."