"Yes, he likes it all right. But he isn't much with Sylvia and all that. He'd like to be more. So would she—a good deal more. That's the point."
Chetwode instantly recollected the incident in the Park. He said without turning a hair, "Quite so. Most natural, I'm sure——" and then thought a moment. Savile was silent.
"What Woodville needs," said Chetwode, lighting another cigarette, "is, of course, less of you and Sir James, and a great deal more of Sylvia; and he can't very well marry her while he's her father's secretary. Though—by Jove!—I don't see why not!"
"What rot!" said Savile.
"Yes, you're right, Savile. It's true Sir James wouldn't give him a minute's time for anything. Well, you want me to get him something to do then?"
"Now, look here, Chetwode, don't play the fool about this. Here's a chap, considered a brilliant man at Oxford; in every way a thoroughly good sort, and a gentleman, who, if it weren't for circumstances, would have been called a good match."
"If it weren't for circumstances, anybody would be called a good match," said Chetwode casually.
"What sort of thing do you think you can get him?" asked Savile, "before Saturday?"
"Before Saturday? Well, what sort of thing does he want before Saturday?"
"Oh, something political. Or some post—or something diplomatic."