I showed him old Tornado Toby--officially known as Major-General Sir Tobias Blast, K.C.M.G., D.S.O., M.V.O., O.U. D.S., etc. I stood in a far corner, and was very silent. “What d’you want?” said Sir Toby. “Job of work, sir.” “Where?” “Commission going to Iraq, sir.” “Why?” “Don’t know, sir. But it’s going.” “Idiot. Why d’you want the job?” “Chap must have a job of work, sir.” Tornado Toby looked him over contemptuously, and his eye roved from the crown on Hugo’s shoulder-strap to the bits of ribbon on Hugo’s sleeve and the light in Hugo’s eye. “What’s the matter with you as you are?” “Fired out, sir. Sick.” Sir Toby’s eye at last came to rest on Hugo’s disabled arm. He drew a blank form towards him. I played about with a cigarette-case. “You can smoke,” he snarled. “What are they?” “Virginian, sir.” “Pah! You can’t smoke.” He looked at Hugo. “Sit down, Major.” “Thank you, sir.” Sir Toby poised pencil over paper. “Education?” “None, sir.” “Where were you educated?” “Nowhere, sir.” “Idiot. Where were you at school?” “Eton, sir.” “Shake,” said Sir Toby. They shook. “What qualifications for this job in Iraq? Think before you answer.” “Thank you, sir.” Hugo thought. “Can’t think of any, sir,” he said at last. “Languages? French?” “Very guarded, sir.” “Can you live on your pay?” “Live on anything, sir.” “Hum! Any private means?” “Very private, sir. Never seen them.” “How d’you live in London, then?” “Pretty well, sir.” Hugo got that job, and in 1919 he came back to England, very bronzed and lean and gay. But the gaiety did not last very long. Now Hugo, in the days of his first youth, had been consumed by an ambition to be regarded as the kind of man to whom no chaste woman should be allowed to speak. But nothing ever came of that, he never even succeeded in persuading a chaste woman to cut him; wherefore in the course of time he came to think of himself as a poor harmless idiot who was liked by every one and loved by none. “Dear Hugo,” people said. That was all right in its way, said Hugo, but he was not so young as he had been and it got, he said, on his nerves a bit.... Soon after he had returned from the Near East, and when the gaiety had worn off, he discovered a pressing desire to Settle Down. And he cast a keen eye round and about the fair land of Britain, and behold! he saw Miss Shirley St. George--and, still worse, got it into his head that she had seen him. Immediately, he fell in love with Miss Shirley St. George. He had, of course, no money: she had no money. He proposed to her: she refused him. He begged: she laughed. “Dear Hugo,” she said. II Now Miss Shirley St. George was little sister to George Tarlyon, whom I think I’ve told you about. One morning Hugo arose from his bed in the chambers, which he could not afford, and directed the valet, whom he could not afford, to send this telephone message: “Major Cypress desires to see Lord Tarlyon at his club at once.”