The letter was from the chairman of a leading bank in Berlin--a man well known in European finance. It was couched in very civil terms, and contained the offer to Mr. Robert Forbes of a post in the Lindner bank, as an English correspondence clerk, at a salary in marks which, when translated, meant about £140 a year. Sir James read it, and handed it back. "Well, what's the meaning of that?" "I'm giving up the Foreign Office," said Bobbie, an engaging openness of manner. "It's not a proper place for a young man. I've learned nothing there but a game we do with Blue-Books, and things you throw at the ceiling--where they stick--I'll tell you about it presently. Besides, you see, I must have some money, and it don't grow in the Foreign Office for people like me. So I went to my uncle, Lord Forestier--" "Of course!" growled Sir James. "I thought we should come to the uncles before long. Miss Wilson, I desire to warn you against marrying a young man of 'the classes.' They have no morals, but they have always uncles." Miss Wilson's eyes shot laughter at her _fiancé_. "Go on, Bobbie, and don't make it too long!" "I decline to be hustled." Bobbie's tone was firm, though urbane. "I repeat: I went to my uncle. And I said to him, like the unemployed: 'Find me work, and none of your d----d charity!'" "Which means, I suppose, that the last time you went to him, you borrowed fifty pounds?" said Sir James. "I shouldn't dream, sir, of betraying my uncle's affairs. On this occasion--for an uncle--he behaved well. He lectured me for twenty-seven minutes and a half--I had made up my mind beforehand not to let it go over the half-hour--and then he came to business. After a year's training and probation in Berlin he thought he could get me a post in his brother-in-law's place in the City. Awfully warm thing, you know," said Bobbie, complacently; "worth a little trouble. So I told him, kindly, I'd think of it. Ecco!" He pointed to the letter. "Of course, I told my uncle I should permit him to continue my allowance, and in a year I shall be a merchant prince--in the egg; I shall be worth marrying; and I shall allow Ettie two hundred a year for her clothes." "And Lady Niton?" Bobbie sat down abruptly; the girl stared at the carpet. "I don't see the point of your remark," said Bobbie at last, with mildness. "When last I had the honor of hearing of her, Lady Niton was taking the air--or the waters--at Strathpeffer." "As far as I know," remarked Sir James, "she is staying with the Feltons, five miles off, at this moment." Bobbie whistled. "Close quarters!" He looked at Miss Ettie Wilson, and she at him. "May I ask whether, as soon as Ettie and I invited ourselves for the day, you asked Lady Niton to come to tea?" "Not at all. I never play Providence unless I'm told to do so. Only Miss Mallory is coming to tea."