“I don’t know.  We shall see about it.  But don’t stand talking there now.”  Then John Eames went into FitzHoward’s room, and received that gentleman’s congratulations on his appointment.  “I hope you like being rung for, like a servant, every minute, for he’s always ringing that bell.  And he’ll roar at you till you’re deaf.  You must give up all dinner engagements, for though there is not much to do, he’ll never let you go.  I don’t think anybody ever asks him out to dinner, for he likes being here till seven.  And you’ll have to write all manner of lies about big people.  And, sometimes, when he has sent Rafferty out about his private business, he’ll ask you to bring him his shoes.”  Now Rafferty was the First Commissioner’s messenger.

It must be remembered, however, that this little account was given by an outgoing and discomfited private secretary.  “A man is not asked to bring another man his shoes,” said Eames to himself, “until he shows himself fit for that sort of business.”  Then he made within his own breast a little resolution about Sir Raffle’s shoes.

CHAPTER XLVII

The New Private Secretary

   INCOME-TAX OFFICE, April 8, 18—.

   MY DEAR LORD DE GUEST,

I hardly know how to answer your letter, it is so very kind—­more than kind.  And about not writing before,—­I must explain that I have not liked to trouble you with letters.  I should have seemed to be encroaching if I had written much.  Indeed it didn’t come from not thinking about you.  And first of all, about the money,—­as to your offer, I mean.  I really feel that I do not know what I ought to say to you about it, without appearing to be a simpleton.  The truth is, I don’t know what I ought to do, and can only trust to you not to put me wrong.  I have an idea that a man ought not to accept a present of money, unless from his father, or somebody like that.  And the sum you mention is so very large that it makes me wish you had not named it.  If you choose to be so generous, would it not be better that you should leave it me in your will?

“So that he might always want me to be dying,” said Lord De Guest, as he read the letter out loud to his sister.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want that,” said Lady Julia.  “But you may live for twenty-five years, you know.”

“Say fifty,” said the earl.  And then he continued the reading of his letter.

But all that depends so much upon another person, that it is hardly worth while talking about it.  Of course I am very much obliged to Mr Dale,—­very much indeed,—­and I think that he is behaving very handsomely to his niece.  But whether it will do me any good, that is quite another thing.  However, I shall certainly accept your kind invitation for Easter, and find out whether I have a chance or not.  I must tell you that Sir Raffle Buffle has made me his private secretary, by which I get a hundred