the lowered voice. "Naturally the man
who's in a situation when he applies stands a better chance, is in a
stronger position, that the man who isn't. It looks as if he's worth
something. I know by myself--(this is letting you into the State
secrets)--it affects an employer greatly. Human nature, I'm afraid."

"I hadn't thought of that," murmured Margaret, while Helen said, "Our
human nature appears to be the other way round. We employ people because
they're unemployed. The boot man, for instance."

"And how does he clean the boots?"

"Not well," confessed Margaret.

"There you are!"

"Then do you really advise us to tell this youth--?"

"I advise nothing," he interrupted, glancing up and down the Embankment,
in case his indiscretion had been overheard. "I oughtn't to have
spoken--but I happen to know, being more or less behind the scenes. The
Porphyrion's a bad, bad concern--Now, don't say I said so. It's outside
the Tariff Ring."

"Certainly I won't say. In fact, I don't know what that means."

"I thought an insurance company never smashed," was Helen's
contribution. "Don't the others always run in and save them?"

"You're thinking of reinsurance," said Mr. Wilcox mildly. "It is exactly
there that the Porphyrion is weak. It has tried to undercut, has been
badly hit by a long series of small fires, and it hasn't been able to
reinsure. I'm afraid that public companies don't save one another for
love."

"'Human nature,' I suppose," quoted Helen, and he laughed and agreed
that it was. When Margaret said that she supposed that clerks, like
every one else, found it extremely difficult to get situations in these
days, he replied, "Yes, extremely," and rose to rejoin his friends. He
knew by his own office--seldom a vacant post, and hundreds of applicants
for it; at present no vacant post.

"And how's Howards End looking?" said Margaret, wishing to change the
subject before they parted. Mr. Wilcox was a little apt to think one
wanted to get something out of him.

"It's let."

"Really. And you wandering homeless in longhaired Chelsea? How strange
are the ways of Fate!"

"No; it's let unfurnished. We've moved."

"Why, I thought of you both as anchored there for ever. Evie never told
me."

"I dare say when you met Evie the thing wasn't settled. We only moved
a week ago. Paul has rather a feeling for the old place, and we held on
for him to have his holiday there; but, really, it is impossibly small.
Endless d