"It would be a great honor, sir," he declared, "a very great honor indeed." Mr. Weatherley did not contradict him. As a matter of fact, he was of the same opinion. "The question is which," he continued. Mr. Jarvis began to understand why he had been consulted. His fingers involuntarily straightened his tie. "If I could be of any use personally, sir,--" His employer shook his head. "My wife would expect me to bring a single man, Jarvis," he said, "and besides, I don't suppose you play bridge." "Cards are not much in my line," Mr. Jarvis admitted, "not having, as a rule, the time to spare, but I can take a hand at loo, if desired." "My wife's friends all play bridge," Mr. Weatherley declared, a little brusquely. "There's only one young man in the office, Jarvis, who, from his appearance, struck me as being likely." "Mr. Stephen Tidey, of course, sir," the confidential clerk agreed. "Most suitable thing, sir, and I'm sure his father would accept it as a high compliment. Mr. Stephen Tidey Senior, sir, as you may be aware, is next on the list for the shrievalty. Shall I call him out, sir?" Mr. Weatherley looked through the glass and met the glance, instantly lowered, of the young man in question. Mr. Stephen Tidey Junior was short and stout, reflecting in his physique his aldermanic father. His complexion was poor, however, his neck thick, and he wore a necktie of red silk drawn through a diamond ring. There was nothing in his appearance which grated particularly upon Mr. Weatherley's sense of seemliness. Nevertheless, he shook his head. He was beginning to recognize his wife's point of view, even though it still seemed strange to him. "I wasn't thinking of young Tidey at all," he declared, bluntly. "I was thinking of that young fellow at the end of the desk there--chap with a queer name--Chetwode, I think you call him." Mr. Jarvis, human automaton though he was, permitted himself an exclamation of surprise. "Young Chetwode! Surely you're not in earnest, sir!" "Why not?" Mr. Weatherley demanded. "There's nothing against him, is there?" "Nothing against him, precisely," Mr. Jarvis confessed, "but he's at the lowest desk in the office, bar Smithers. His salary is only twenty-eight shillings a week, and we know nothing whatever about him except that his references were satisfactory. It isn't to be supposed that he would feel at home in your house, sir. Now, with Mr. Tidey, sir, it's quite different. They live in a very beautiful house at Sydenham now--quite a small palace, in its way, I've been told." Mr. Weatherley was getting a little impatient. "Send Chetwode out for a moment, anyway," he directed. "I'll speak to him here." Mr. Jarvis obeyed in silence. He entered the office and touched the young man in question upon the shoulder. "Mr. Weatherley wishes to speak to you outside, Chetwode," he announced. "Make haste, please."