and Wilton, Vere and Broughton, and heaps
more--if they can't get him something? A splendid chap like old
Woodville! He was looked upon as a brilliant man at Balliol. I happen to
know that--never mind how."

She kissed him. "Do you think, then, that Arthur Mervyn would help him?
I mean, do you think that Frank might go on the stage?"

He looked at her quite anxiously, as though he thought her troubles had
turned her brain.

"Go on the _stage_! Go on _what_ stage? Oh, you'd like to see your
husband prancing about like a painted mountebank with a chorus of
leading ladies, would you?"

"Oh no, indeed I shouldn't! But are leading ladies all dreadful? And I
thought you were in love with a singer yourself," said Sylvia.

Savile threw away his cigarette, with what he hoped was a hollow laugh.

"My dear child, what I choose to do and what I allow my sister to do are
two very different things."

"I dare say they are, darling," said Sylvia mildly. "And, _please_ don't
imagine for one moment that I suppose you ever do anything at all--I
mean, that you oughtn't."

"No, I shouldn't worry about _me_," said Savile. "We're talking about
_your_ troubles.... As if Woodville were such an ass! Catch him going in
for such rot!" He laughed. "Sylvia, do you suppose that he's stayed here
in this hole," said Savile in a muffled undertone, looking round the
exquisite room, and then repeating loudly and defiantly, "I say, in this
_Hole_, except for you? Do you think he can't do anything better? Mind
you, the Governor's fond of Woodville, it's only the cash and all that.
If that idiot of an uncle of his hadn't married his housekeeper, it
would have been all right."

"Oh, Savile, fancy, I saw her once! She wore----"

"Describe her dress some other day, dear, for Heaven's sake. What I say
is that Woodville is the sort of man who could make his mark."

"Do you think he could make a name by painting?" she asked eagerly.

Savile looked rather sick, and said with patient resignation, "By
painting what? The front of the house? Look here, _some one's_ got to
talk sense. Leave this to me." He then waited a minute, and said,
"_I'll_ get him something to do!"

"Oh, Savile!--Angel!--Genius! How?"

"Would you mind, very kindly, telling me what Chetwode's our
brother-in-law for?" said Savile. "What use is he? When's he ever seen
with Felicity? He can't live at curiosity shops and race-meetings. He
can't expect to. Why (keep this to yourself) I