"I'm afraid not, sir." The voice of Vance was charged with melancholy and delicate regret. "We were only Binks and Co. in those days."
"Nonsense. Why, you measured me yourself, Vance."
"An impossibility, sir."
Mr. Vance leaned against a pillar of cloth, like one requiring support in a very painful situation. It was agony for him to contradict Sir Peter. But truth is great. It prevailed.
"I was in the City then, sir, serving my time at Tyson's."
He dropped his eyes. He had crushed Sir Peter with proof, but he was too polite to be a witness of his discomfiture.
"Tyson's—Tyson's." Sir Peter's tongue uttered the name mechanically. His mind no longer followed Vance; it was busy with the loveliest woman in Leicestershire.
Mr. Vance smiled. "I daresay they know that name pretty well in your county, sir."
"The name," said Sir Peter, blushing a little at his own thoughts, "the name is not uncommon."
"It's the same family, though, sir."