And the cause of it all was Mrs. Nevill Tyson. Yet he was proud of her

still; proud even of the notoriety which was a tribute to her beauty. To

tell the truth, her notoriety was his protection. Once the elections were

over, gossip was too busy with the wife to pay much attention to the

husband. He was considered to have extinguished himself for good. Miss

Batchelor no longer regretted that he had no profession. To be the

husband of the loveliest woman in Leicestershire was profession enough

for any man.

By a further social paradox, Mrs. Nevill Tyson owed much of her present

notoriety to her former obscurity. Lady Morley, had her temperament

permitted, might have been as frisky or as risky as she pleased, without

attracting unkind attention, much less censure. But, unless she combined

the virtue of an angel with the manners of a district visitor, and

contrived to walk circumspectly across the quicksands that separated her

from "good society," a daughter of Mrs. Wilcox was condemned already.

Mrs. Nevill Tyson had never walked circumspectly in her life. And Fate,

that follows on the footsteps of the fool, was waiting, if not to catch

Mrs. Nevill Tyson tripping, at any rate to prove that she must trip.

At first Fate merely willed that Sir Peter should take a journey up to

town. Sir Peter's serviceable tweed suit, that had lasted him a good five

years, was beginning to go at the corners. We know Stanistreet's opinion

of Sir Peter's taste in dress; it was only a coarser expression of the

views held by his wife. But for her frank and friendly criticism, Sir

Peter, holding change in abhorrence, would have worn that tweed suit

another five years at the very least.

"It's a capital suit," said he.

"Perfectly disgraceful," said she. "Look at your elbow."

"Ordinary wear and tear."

"Particularly tear." And while she was speaking Sir Peter had rubbed the

worn place into a jagged hole. Sir Peter sighed. He was much attached to

that tweed suit; it knew his ways, and had adapted itself to all the

little eccentricities of his figure. After five years there is a certain

intimacy between a man and his suit. However, there was no blinking the

fact--the suit was doomed. Sir Peter's man seized the occasion for a

general overhauling of his master's wardrobe, with the result 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.




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