_Roger_: "Sir Mulberry? I scarcely ever see him. He’s much too big a pot to take an interest in me. Besides, he’s keenest about the Niger just now. No, I have mostly to do with Bennet Molyneux, who is head of the Department; and I’m afraid I don’t care overmuch for him. I like awfully the clerks in the Department except that they don’t take Africa very seriously, think it all a joke, a joke bordering rather on boredom. Still, they’re some of the jolliest fellows I know. It’s Molyneux I can’t hit it off with, and they say in the Department it’s because I’ve come in between some poor relation, some cousin of his he wants to push on out there. He got him appointed a Vice-Consul a year or two back and thought he was going to be asked to act for Eccles whilst he was on leave. And now that Lord Wiltshire has said _I_ am to—I don’t doubt at your suggestion, sir—Molyneux has turned quite acid. Especially when he had to draft my instructions! I think also he didn’t like my setting him right when I first came to work in the office. He wrote some minutes about the Slave Trade and about the Germans which were the uttermost rubbish you ever read, and he never forgave me for not backing him up at a departmental committee they held—Sir Mulberry presided. And the mere fact that Thrumball and Landsdell have been awfully kind to me and had me to dine with them seems to have soured him. And when one day Lord Wiltshire sent for me to answer some questions—Well, I thought afterwards Molyneux would have burst with spleen. He threw official reserve to the winds and walked up and down in his big room raving—’_I’ve_ been in this office since 1869,’ he said, ’and I don’t believe Lord Wiltshire knows me by sight. Yet he’s ready to send for the veriest outsider if he thinks he can get any information out of him. The Office is going to the dogs—and so on....’" _Lord Silchester_: "Molyneux, Bennet Molyneux. I know him. Not a bad fellow in some respects, but a bad enemy to make. He is a kind of cousin of Feenix’s—Colonial Office, you know. Well, your fate is in your own hands ... you must walk warily..." (at this a servant enters and informs his lordship that the carriage is waiting) "I must be off. Sibyl! you _won’t_ stay up late? Roger, don’t talk to her for more than an hour. Good-bye. Of course, you’ll come and see us before you actually sail?..." (goes out). A pause. _Sibyl_: "You may smoke now; but only a cigarette, not a cigar." (Roger lights a cigarette.)