'Hardly at all, Paul said.
'Sensible fellow! I can't think why I keep on at it. It's a dog's life, and there's no money in it, either. If I'd stayed at the Bar I'd have been a rich man by now.
'Rest, rest and riches, he said ‑ 'it's only after forty one begins to value things of that kind. And half one's life, perhaps, is lived after forty. Solemn thought that. Bear it in mind, young man, and it will save you from most of the worst mistakes. If everyone at twenty realized that half his life was to be lived after forty…
'Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde's cooking and Mrs Beste-Chetwynde's garden, said Sir Humphrey meditatively. 'What could be desired more except our fair hostess herself? Have you known her long?
'Only a few weeks, said Paul.
'There's no one like her, said Sir Humphrey. He drew a deep breath of smoke. Beyond the yew hedges the panotrope could be faintly heard. 'What did she want to build this house for? he asked. 'It all comes of this set she's got into. It's not doing her any good. Damned awkward position to be in ‑ a rich woman without a husband! Bound to get herself talked about. What Margot ought to do is to marry — someone who would stabilize her position, someone, said Sir Humphrey, 'with a position in public life.
And then, without any apparent connexion of thought, he began talking about himself. "Aim high" has been my motto, said Sir Humphrey, 'all through my life. You probably won't get what you want, but you may get something; aim low, and you get nothing at all. It's like throwing a stone at a cat. When I was a kid that used to be great sport in our yard; I daresay you were throwing cricket‑balls when you were that age, but it's the same thing. If you throw straight at it, you fall short; aim above, and with luck you score. Every kid knows that. I'll tell you the story of my life.
Why was it, Paul wondered, that everyone he met seemed to specialize in this form of autobiography? He supposed he must have a sympathetic air. Sir Humphrey told of his early life: of a family of nine living in two rooms, of a father who drank and a mother who had fits, of a sister who went on the streets, of a brother who went to prison, of another brother who was born a deaf‑mute. He told of scholarships and polytechnics, of rebuffs and encouragements, of a University career of brilliant success and unexampled privations.
'I used to do proof‑reading for the Holywell Press, he said, 'then I learned shorthand and took down the University sermons for the local papers.
As he spoke the clipped yews seemed to grow grey with the soot of the slums, and the panotrope in the distance took on the gay regularity of a barrel‑organ heard up a tenement staircase.