John Eames succeeded in making his bargain with Sir Raffle Buffle.  He accepted the private secretaryship on the plainly expressed condition that he was to have leave of absence for a fortnight towards the end of April.  Having arranged this he took an affectionate leave of Mr Love, who was really much affected at parting with him, discussed valedictory pots of porter in the big room, over which many wishes were expressed that he might be enabled to compass the length and breadth of old Ruffle’s feet, uttered a last cutting joke at Mr Kissing as he met that gentleman hurrying through the passages with an enormous ledger in his hands, and then took his place in the comfortable arm-chair which FitzHoward had been forced to relinquish.

“Don’t tell any of the fellows,” said Fitz, “but I’m going to cut the concern altogether.  My governor wouldn’t let me stop here in any other place than that of private secretary.”

“Ah, your governor is a swell,” said Eames.

“I don’t know about that,” said FitzHoward.  “Of course he has a good deal of family interest.  My cousin is to come in for St. Bungay at the next election, and then I can do better than remain here.”

“That’s a matter of course;” said Eames.  “If my cousin were Member for St Bungay, I’d never stand anything east of Whitehall.”

“And I don’t mean,” said FitzHoward.  “This room, you know, is all very nice; but it is a bore coming into the City every day.  And then one doesn’t like to be rung for like a servant.  Not that I mean to put you out of conceit with it.”

“It will do very well for me,” said Eames.  “I never was very particular.”  And so they parted, Eames assuming the beautiful arm-chair and the peril of being asked to carry Sir Raffle’s shoes, while FitzHoward took the vacant desk in the big room till such time as some member of his family should come into Parliament for the borough of St. Bungay.

But Eames, though he drank the porter, and quizzed FitzHoward, and gibed at Kissing, did not seat himself in his new arm-chair without some serious thoughts.  He was aware that his career in London had not hitherto been one on which he could look back with self-respect.  He had lived with friends whom he did not esteem; he had been idle, and sometimes worse than idle; and he had allowed himself to be hampered by the pretended love of a woman for whom he had never felt any true affection, and by whom he had been cozened out of various foolish promises which even yet were hanging over his head.  As he sat with Sir Raffle’s notes before him, he thought almost with horror of the men and women in Burton Crescent.  It was now about three years since he had first known Cradell, and he shuddered as he remembered how very poor a creature was he whom he had chosen for his bosom friend.  He could not make for himself those excuses which we can make for him.  He could not tell himself that he had been driven by circumstances to choose a friend,