ult that Sir
Peter had to go up by an early train the next morning to consult Mr.
Vance, his tailor.

Sir Peter was being measured up and down and all round him, while Mr.
Vance stood by, note-book in hand, and took minutes of his case.

"A little wider round the waist, Vance, since you made my first coat for
me thirty years ago."

Sir Peter was swaying on his toes, and supporting himself by a finger-tip
laid on the shoulder of Vance's man.

"Not quite so long ago as that, Sir Peter."

"Must be, must be; you've been here more than thirty years."

Sir Peter prided himself on his memory, and was a stickler for the actual
fact.

"I'm afraid not, sir." The voice of Vance was charged with melancholy and
delicate regret. "We were only Binks and Co. in those days."

"Nonsense. Why, you measured me yourself, Vance."

"An impossibility, sir."

Mr. Vance leaned against a pillar of cloth, like one requiring support
in a very painful situation. It was agony for him to contradict Sir
Peter. But truth is great. It prevailed.

"I was in the City then, sir, serving my time at Tyson's."

He dropped his eyes. He had crushed Sir Peter with proof, but he was too
polite to be a witness of his discomfiture.

"Tyson's--Tyson's." Sir Peter's tongue uttered the name mechanically. His
mind no longer followed Vance; it was busy with the loveliest woman in
Leicestershire.

Mr. Vance smiled. "I daresay they know that name pretty well in your
county, sir."

"The name," said Sir Peter, blushing a little at his own thoughts, "the
name is not uncommon."

"It's the same family, though, sir."

"Really--" Sir Peter was a little startled this time--"you don't mean to
say--"

"Yes. It was a small firm, was Tyson's. But they're big people, I fancy,
by now. Old Mr. Tyson left 'em and set up by himself in the wholesale
business in Birmingham. He made a mint o' money. I understand he bought
one of the best properties in your county; is that so, sir?"

If Mr. Vance had not made coats for Sir Peter for thirty years, he had
made them for twenty-five or thereabouts, and he was privileged to
gossip.

"Yes, yes, Thorneytoft. Very good property. And a very good sort too, old
Mr. Tyson."

"A little peculiar, I'm told."

"Well--perhaps. I had not much acquaintance with the old man myself,
but he was very generally respected. I know his nephew, Mr. Nevill
Tyson--slightly."

Sir Peter would have died rather than ask a direct question, but h