"Indeed?" Chetwode murmured, with his eye upon his work.
"You understand, of course," Mr. Jarvis continued, "that it will be an evening-dress affair. Mrs. Weatherley has the name of being very particular."
He glanced covertly at the young man, who was already immersed in his work.
"Evening dress," Chetwode remarked, with a becoming show of interest. "Well, I dare say I can manage something. If I wear a black coat and a white silk bow, and stick a red handkerchief in underneath my waistcoat, I dare say I shall be all right. Mr. Weatherley can't expect much from me in that way, can he?"
The senior clerk was secretly delighted. It was not for him to acquaint this young countryman with the necessities of London life. He turned away and took up a bundle of letters.
"Can't say, I'm sure, what the governor expects," he replied, falsely. "You'll have to do the best you can, I suppose. Better get on with those invoices now."
Once more the office resounded to the hum of its varied labors. Mr. Jarvis, dictating letters to a typist, smiled occasionally as he pictured the arrival of this over-favored young man in the drawing-room of Mrs. Weatherley, attired in the nondescript fashion which his words had suggested. One or two of the clerks ventured upon a chaffing remark. To all appearance, the person most absorbed in his work was the young man who had been singled out for such especial favor.